


Return to Hartfield

by ORainStorms



Category: Emma (2020), Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beach Holidays, Beach House, Beaches, Betrayal, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Clothed Sex, Conflict Resolution, Consent, Desire, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dogs, Drama & Romance, Enemies, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feel-good, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Feels, Female Friendship, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Feelings, Fluffyfest, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gentle Kissing, Happy Ending, Hot Sex, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Lover's Quarrel, Lust, Married Couple, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Pining, Plot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Resolution, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Self-Discovery, Self-Indulgent, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sexy Times, Shameless Smut, Simultaneous Orgasm, Smut, Some Plot, Teasing, Travel, Undressing, Vaginal Sex, Walks On The Beach, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Wedding Night, puppy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORainStorms/pseuds/ORainStorms
Summary: Emma and Mr. Knightley have finally found their way to each other.  They are ready to embark on their next adventure: marriage.
Relationships: George Knightley & Emma Woodhouse, George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 89
Kudos: 317





	1. The Wedding Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Emma spend their first night together as husband and wife.

In due course, Miss Emma Woodhouse and Mr. George Knightley were wed before intimate friends and relations. The wedding breakfast had and the guests departed, the remainder of the day passed in a quite familiar fashion at Hartfield. The true change in situation did not make itself felt until the time came to retire for the evening. Upon the removal of her maid, Emma began to feel a slight fluttering at what was to come: the wedding night. 

Dressed in her nightclothes, hair loose, Emma sat before the fire, to all appearances reading. However, her eyes gave the secret away, for they were unable to trace the lines. Every element within her was fixed upon the bedchamber door. 

Before long, a quick knock sounded and the door swung open. Without lifting her eyes, Emma listened to the door click shut, the lock turn, and footsteps approach. A throat cleared at her shoulder, and she finally allowed her eyes to rise. 

She smiled. “Mr. Knightley.”

Softer than she had ever seen it before, his face gazed upon hers. “Emma. Do not you think you might call me by my given name now? Here in this place?”

“Not for the world,” Emma teased. “For I have not forgot, you see, how dreadfully you distained my attempt at using it all those years ago.”

“Emma,” he sighed, frowning. “What would not have been proper then, is now correct. Quite alone, man and wife, it is right that you should call me George.”

“Hmm,” chuckling slightly, Emma rose. “Will not you sit? I shall fetch the tea.” 

Assuming her now vacant seat, Mr. Knightley watched as Emma walked to the sideboard. 

“Will you take some?” 

“Emma?”

“I had Biddy bring it up before retiring. I fear it has gone cold.”

“Emma?”

“Ought I to call for her to refresh the pot?” Worrying at her lip, Emma made toward the fireplace and the bell pull.

“Emma, come here, love.” Reaching out, Mr. Knightley took her hand in his and gently tugged her toward his seat. “We need not have tea.” With a reassuring touch, he squeezed her fingers. “We need not do anything tonight. On this most happy of days, nothing is wanting. I am the most fortunate creature on the planet to finally have you, Emma, my dear wife, as mine. I would be content simply to gaze upon you forever.” He lifted her hand to his lips and laid a kiss upon it. 

A blush crept across Emma’s face. Smiling, she gave a small cough. “But…” She tried again. “But, I want…”

“Yes”

“I want…” Gathering every shred of courage she could muster, Emma leaned forward and brushed her lips to his, quick and tentative.

The corner of his mouth tugging upwards, George closed his eyes and savored the sensation before reaching forward and cupping her face, bringing it to his own. Gently, he drew her to sit upon his lap and explored her mouth in lingering kisses. Sensing her willingness, he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled. 

This was met with much enthusiasm. Emma squirmed in his lap and leaned closer, her hands finding purchase on his shoulders. Her fingers found his neck, bare for once, and traced the strong muscles, felt the pounding of his heart as it raced beside her own.

Encouraged, George swept his tongue across her lips and when she allowed them to part, delved within.

Emma moaned in pleasure and pressed herself closer, hands clinging. She was a quick study and soon she was mimicking his motions with her own mouth. She had not known there was so much more to kissing, but she was far from averse to exploring all of the forms being presented to her.

George’s hands slid from her face as their lips joined. They ran the length of her arms. He held his fingers to her own before making the return journey and petting the tender flesh of her neck and collarbone before drifting to the tie of her nightdress. Breaking the kiss, she watched him. His eyes turned down and fixed upon the small bow. Entranced, he watched as it slowly came undone. Glancing up, their eyes met, and he brought his lips to hers once more. 

His hand slid downwards, trembling slightly, and brushed her breast, light, barely perceivable, before landing upon her side, just below where she truly wanted it, thumb tantalizingly close. 

What was this, thought she. Never having been touched thusly, she had had no inkling, no hint, that her body could be touched and feel in such a way as this. Emma whimpered and leaned her body forward, seeking more. Thankfully, George took her meaning and his hand returned to her breast, this time cupping it fully. His nimble fingers found the stiff peak of her nipple and stroked. Small sounds of pleasure escaped Emma’s lips even as they increased the urgency of their kissing. When his fingers tugged, she gasped and squirmed against him. 

Releasing her exquisitely tortured nipple, his hands slid downwards, to her hips, and adjusted her in his lap. 

Suddenly, Emma became aware of a rather stiff length pressing against her bottom and squirmed against it. This solicited a moan from George, so of course, she repeated the motion. 

“Emma,” he breathed, raggedly. His hands had traveled from her hip lower, to the edge of her nightdress, and traced the hem. He swallowed and firmly affixed his eyes to hers. “Shall we continue, dear Emma?”

Emma frowned. “Ought we to move to the bed?”

“Why?”

“I’m not ignorant, Mr. Knightley,” Emma scoffed. “Mrs. Weston did enlighten me as to what might transpire on this night. She told me that my husband would come to me. That he would have needs. And, while it may not be to my taste, it is my duty to lie back on the bed and submit. She said that a man’s attentions may not be desirous, but I was to simply lay back and think of England. I do believe those to be her exact words. I know how important it is to you for one to do one’s duty. But I cannot see how I can manage it without first removing to the bed!” She ended with a huff. 

Beginning to stand, Emma attempted to pull Mr. Knightley with her, but he drew her back down, releasing her gown. Swallowing hard, he rubbed a hand over his face. 

“Emma.” He cleared his throat. “Emma, no. There will be no lying back and submitting with us. Is that clear? We shall not proceed until you tell me simply and resolutely that it is your desire to do so. Emma, dear Emma, I am not accusing you of being naive,” he paused, appearing to collect his thoughts, “but Emma, please allow me to suggest that I, perhaps, am better experienced in this area. Emma, it is my wish for this night to be one of delight, wonder, and joy, for both of us. I want nothing untowards nor uncomfortable to occur. You must tell me Emma, when something pleases or displeases you, just as you have always done. And I promise, my love, to obey your wishes.”

Emma blinked furiously, considering this. This was not at all what she had been taught to expect. The dual views of Mr. Knightley who valued duty above all else and George, her husband, who was exceedingly solicitous of her fought in her head. “I…” 

“Do you enjoy it when I do this?” He stroked her face, and she nodded. 

“And this?” He brushed his thumb over her sensitive lips. Her eyes locked on his, Emma shivered and nodded. 

“This?” He guided her face to his and brushed his lips to hers. Able to withstand these small tortures no longer, Emma moaned, wanting more. She nodded against his mouth and took it, prolonging and deepening their kiss until both of their breathing was ragged. 

“And this?” His hand found its way to her breast and her heartbeat quickened. She broke away, drew in a deep breath, and nodded. This time his hand explored. It caressed, weighed, circled, and pinched. Eyes locked to hers, he leaned forward and took the puckered peak into his mouth through the thin fabric. Emma fairly shrieked. Grabbing his hair, she held him to her as he lavished her with his tongue and teeth. She writhed against him, still wanting. 

“More”, she commanded. He chuckled and rose from the chair, carrying her with him.

“So it is necessary to travel to the bed!” She exclaimed, “I was right!” Triumph bloomed in her chest. 

Mr. Knightley just smiled and gave her a quick kiss. “Not always, but for tonight, it might be most comfortable.” Then with a stern voice and look he reminded her, “Do not lay back and submit. You must promise to tell me if you wish to stop, and we will. I love you Emma, and I would not harm you for the world. Be assured of that.”

She nodded. 

Reaching again for her hem, he slowly inched it upwards, holding his breath as more and more of her fair skin was exposed. When finally he drew it over her head and she sat before him without a stitch to cover herself, he froze and gazed on in wonder. Emma, unable to withstand his perusal, lifted her hands and placed them over her breasts. She turned from his gaze, a blush spreading down her neck and onto her chest. 

Depositing the cloth upon the floor, George reached forward and stroked her chin, urging her to return her eyes to his. “Allow me to look upon you, dear Emma, for you are perfection itself. I will, this once, permit myself to flatter you in no uncertain terms. You are everything my heart has yearned for these many months. Nearly was I broken when I imagined I might lose you forever to none other than Frank Churchill.” He ran his hands through his hair and breathed out heavily. “But we shall not speak of that. I was so ashamed that upon hearing of his engagement to Miss Fairfax, my immediate thought was of your sure misery, but all I could feel was hope. Hope that I might have a chance to succeed and win your heart.” Gentle fingers stroked her cheek and wiped away the tear that fell. “And now…” He swallowed. “And now you are in being. Now you are my wife, Mrs. Knightley. Allow me, my love, the luxury of reveling in this. Allow me to gaze upon you and take you in.” 

Completely undone by his words, Emma released her breasts, reached for his hand, and drew him onto the bed. Again their lips met. The brief embarrassment of the moment had fled, and again, Emma wanted more. There was a burning which had begun in her lower belly, and pure instinct drove her forward. To what, she did not know. 

Pulling at his hand, she guided it to her breast. She recalled her enjoyment of his attentions earlier. “More,” she pleaded. 

The corner of his mouth lifting, Mr. Knightley complied. His lips finding hers, he teased her breasts briefly, but then his hand drifted lower. It danced down her ribs, across her stomach, and to her softest and most private curls. Emma stiffened and drew away. 

He immediately froze. “ Shall we stop?” 

She frowned, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to touch you Emma, if you will allow me the liberty.”

She swallowed and nodded. 

Watching her intently, he gently caressed her belly just above the curls, the tops of her thighs, her knees, and the insides of her legs. The warmth spreading through her was renewed and the uncertainty swept away. Again she felt the desire for more. She writhed and her legs parted slightly. 

“That’s it, Emma. Let me in.”

Biting her lip, she allowed them to part further and struggled to remain still as he gazed upon the most intimate part of herself. His fingers traced upwards, teasing, testing, before finally landing on the most tender and sensitive flesh. This is when the magic truly began as he stroked her, wide, slow circles that felt so wonderful and decadent that they must surely be wicked, but Emma did not care. She could not. She was so lost to sensation. All she could think on was this bed, this man, and the incredible things he did to her here. 

Without pausing his ministrations, he shifted position to lay between her legs, and brought his face closer to her intimate area. Emma was too far gone to truly notice anything but the sensations driving her wild. Suddenly, wet warmth met her flesh and her eyes flew open. Something between a gasp and a moan escaped her. She stammered his name, a question, and he stopped, gazing up at her with hooded eyes. 

“Surely, surely this is improper, I have never heard of such a thing. Surely it is better to just have done with it. I… I… I…”

“Did you dislike what I was doing?”

She cleared her throat, “Certainly not. However…”

“No, Emma. Do not worry about what you believe should or should not happen or what anyone else would think of it. Just tell me, Emma, did you enjoy it?”

The severe blush across her cheeks, down her neck, and across her chest returns. She cursed her pale skin and its inability to retain a secret. She covered her breasts. “I… We should not… What I mean to say is…” No one had so much as hinted at the possibility of this occurring and Emma did not know what to think.

He brushed her hair from her face and gazed into her eyes. “Did you like it Emma? Did it please you?” He gazed at her with so imploring a look that she had no choice but to reply truthfully. 

“Yes,” the broken sound escaped.

“Good, for what I want most in the world is to please you, wife. Dear Emma. Shall I continue?”

Forehead to forehead, she nodded, nearly imperceptibly. He leaned in to kiss her mouth. Hand on the small of her back, he guided her back down to the bed and kissed his way downwards. 

When he reached her most sensitive place and laid his tongue against it, Emma moaned and bowed off the bed, but she did not stop him. To her shock and wonder, the sensations did not dissipate, they increased in intensity, climbing to some unknown height. 

His fingers caressed her too, her legs, her stomach, her breasts, before finally meeting his mouth between her legs. He gently circled the entrance to her body before slipping a finger in and rubbing gently. The intrusion felt unusual to Emma, but only drove the wicked sensations higher, until she was driven to the point of madness. Convulsions wracked her body and stars danced behind her eyes. She bit down on her forearm to prevent herself from screaming. 

Mr. Knightley kissed his way up her body and gazed upon her lovingly. Drawing up his own nightshirt, he discretely wiped his face. 

Suddenly, Emma is roused from the languid state of moments before. For the first time, she was met by the full sight of a very aroused male, and she was fascinated. Of course, she had a general idea of what to expect from caring for her young nephews, but this was nothing like that. Long and thick, George’s member protruded proudly from his body. 

With shaky fingers, Emma reached toward it. Her barely there touch traced its length before she finally recalled herself and looked up into the eyes of her husband. His face looked pained. 

“Am I not doing this as I should? Might you direct me in the manner in which I should touch you?”

“Emma.” His voice cracked and he fairly tackled her to the bed, mouth on hers. 

“This is what I have wanted for many months now. You, Emma. You for my wife. You, mine always. You to have and to hold. You in my bed. I can contain my feelings no longer.” 

They kissed again for many moments, and Emma could feel his member between her legs. Curious, she moved against it and he moaned into her mouth. 

“Shall we continue, Emma?” 

There was more? Of course there was more. Nothing onerous had yet occurred, and she had been greatly given the impression that it would.

Tentatively, she nodded. 

Again finding her entrance, this time with his length, he began to press forward. Emma was filled with uncomfortable and unfamiliar pressure. She was nearly overwhelmed, but persevered. 

George went slowly, nearly maddeningly so. “Are you all right, my dearest Emma,” he strained to inquire. “I shall endeavor to cause you as little pain as I can. Is this all right? I promise every time we come together this will shall be even better.”

“It does not hurt. It feels a bit odd, but not too uncomfortable.”

By the time he was finally fully seated within her, Emma’s body had stretched to accommodate his. She had come to rather enjoy the sensation. But quick as that, he had withdrawn and Emma was left wanting. She whimpered.

Misunderstanding her, George attempted to soothe her. “Are you quite well? Would you but ask me to stop, and we shall.” 

Emma, who had by this time become quite frantic for more, did not wait for him to alter his movements. She shifted and lifted her hips from the bed, bringing him back within her, and was delighted at the changing sensation. She did it again. This time he joined her movements and their rhythm increased. 

With eager excitement, Emma began to feel the rising tide of sensation yet again. This time, she knew what existed at its peak. She urged him on with her cries and her body.

Reaching between them, George again found the bundle of nerves that so drove her mad. Skillfully, he caressed her within and without until they both flew over the edge and collapsed together on the bed. 

For much time afterwards, George held her firmly to his chest, until they both fell asleep. 


	2. The Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Emma and Mr. Knightley embark on their honeymoon  
> 

_Two months prior to the wedding_ -

Alone at the breakfast table, Emma dwelt on every consideration and detail of the wedding. In her mind, she ran through the lists she had made.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, but she did not look up. To her astonishment, through the open door strolled none other than Mr. Knightley. It was his routine to attend her at Hartfield much later in the day, as had been his habit prior to their engagement. Regardless, Emma beamed up at him.

“Mr. Knightley, how good of you to call so early. I was just thinking on the plans for our wedding. It is quite fortuitous that you came in just now. What are your feelings on the absence of cake at the wedding breakfast? I fear Papa is quite set against it. He is distraught at the very mention of it. He does go on upon the evils to one's health caused by an excess of heavy, rich sweets.” Sighing, she pouted prettily. “I fear I may not be able to bring him round.”

Mr. Knightley approached her, raised her hand to his lips for a kiss, and assumed the seat beside her, crossing one leg over the other.

“My dear Emma, I am sure that you are more than capable of planning a wedding and wedding breakfast. I am aware that you had quite a hand in planning that of Mrs. Weston. Cake or none matters not to me for I shall have all that I desire. I have come today on a different errand. I have been very busy settling my tenants and estate for my absence, but you have not yet told me where you wish to go for our honeymoon.”

“If I am unable to reconcile Papa to cake, what gives you the idea that I am equal to convincing him that any sort of travel would be acceptable for me. Besides, you know how lonely he gets. It would not do for him to dwell in the house alone. “

“Hmm,” he brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. “I had thought of that. Perhaps he might stay at Randalls for the duration? Or Mrs. Weston could come here?”

“No, no. That would not do at all. You know how he hates to remain anywhere other than his own home and bed for even a single night. That is why he so seldom attends dinner parties, or any other such entertainment where he might be caught and obliged to stay. He would not even remain at Randalls last Christmas and there was the suggestion of snow! No, he would never agree to stay there, or anywhere apart from home, for any length of time. And consider, Mrs. Weston has a brand new baby to care for. She would never be able to attend him, here or there. I fear that would not work either. I’m dreadfully sorry, but I do not think we will be able travel at this time. We had better stay here ourselves.” Emma nodded to herself, convinced of the validity of her argument.

Mr. Knightley cleared his throat, managing admirably to retain a calm countenance.

“I know how miserable it makes you to hear of the travels of others. How you have longed to see the sea. Allow me to grant you this wish. To experience this pleasure with you, dearest Emma. Let us both think on this more. I am sure that we can come to an arrangement that will suit both you and your father.”

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he rose, dropped a kiss on to her head, and bid her farewell.

_One month prior to the wedding_ -

“Emma, the seaside it shall be. I have just had a letter from John. He has agreed to occupy Donwell during our absence to see to my business affairs. He shall keep the children there with him along with the nannies and the governess. So as not to overwhelm your father he will only bring them by for the occasional visit with him,” Mr. Knightley announced upon entering the greenhouse.

Emma, who examined each bud, bloom, and leaf for rot or insects, frowned. She plucked a bud and ran it across her pursed lips. She observed Mr. Knightley stiffen, staring intently at her action. She put the rose down. “But he would still be alone. I’m sorry, but this simply cannot do. You must not understand him as I do.”

Shifting position, Mr. Knightley cleared his throat. “Allow me, my dear, to finish. Isabella has agreed to remain here at Hartfield during that time. She wrote that she would relish a rest in the countryside and will be here as much as even your father could wish.”

He walked toward her and took her hands in his own, squeezing gently.

“Consent to this my love. Think of how envious you have been when others have traveled while you remained here at Hartfield. Imagine, my dear, how felicitous it would be to see a new place and meet new people. I shall give it to you. All is taken care of. Everyone will be well. And we shall not be gone for long. A month at most. You shall return healthier than ever for having taken in the sea air and your father can have nothing to object.”

“Hmm.” Emma pursed her lips, unwilling to give away her acceptance and pleasure at the scheme. “Allow me to think on it. It does _sound_ as if you’ve settled everything…”

He smiled and shook his head knowing the game she played. Drawing her forward, he bowed his head and briefly joined his lips to hers. “Well then... “ He returned his lips to hers before stepping away entirely. Retrieving the rosebud she had discarded, he tapped it lightly upon her nose before tucking it into his lapel. “I am off to convince your father.”

_The day after the wedding_ -

Sunlight streaming through the windows warmed Emma’s face and caused her to awake with a start. She was disoriented. The chime of her clock had not awakened her. She blinked several times and sat up in bed, attempting to gain her bearings.

A warm arm fell from where it had covered her abdomen as Emma sat up, and a groan emerged from the bed beside her. The bed shifted as her husband sat up and stretched.

Emma contented herself and smiled. She thought reassuringly that things were bound to be a bit different now that she was Mrs. George Knightley. She raised her own arms to stretch and realized that she still retained not a stitch of clothing. Where ever had her nightdress gone? She lifted the sheet to cover herself. It was one thing to be unclothed with one’s husband during the night, when all were asleep and the lights extinguished, but it was quite another altogether to do so in broad daylight.

As she looked around searching, her eyes landed upon the mirror across the room and she caught sight of herself, rumpled and pink cheeked. She took in her disheveled appearance and fairly shrieked. Never before had anyone but a servant seen her in such disarray. What would Mr. Knightley think of her?

Leaping from the bed, she dragged the top sheet with her. “I.. I…” She frantically patted at her hair and attempted to pull it into some sort of submission. Without a backwards glance, she dashed to the adjoining dressing room. The chuckle from the bed speeding her on.

When she emerged a few minutes later, she found Mr. Knightley still in her bed chamber. He was sitting beside the fire taking tea. She had managed to scramble into a fresh dressing gown and had hastily pulled a brush through her unbound hair before daring to come out. There he sat, in only his nightshirt, perusing her languidly. Emma felt a shiver run down her spine at remembrances of the previous night.

A smile crept onto Mr. Knightley’s face. “Emma. How do you fare this morning, beloved?”

Cheeks warming, she offered a shy smile. “Fine, husband. And how are you?”

He set down his cup. “Fine, fine. Won’t you join me in a cup of tea? I did see to a fresh cup upon arising and it is still quite hot.”

She sat beside him and poured herself a generous portion from the pot. The first sip warmed her soul and awakened her mind and body. She could feel his eyes upon her as she enjoyed her cup.

Mr. Knightley frowned at her and asked with concern, “Are you sure you are quite well?” His gaze darted toward the bed and he tugged at his ear. “It is only that I did happen to notice the slight marring of blood upon the sheets. I am aware that this is a normal occurrence for a lady’s first time sharing a bed with her husband.” His eyes rejoined hers, searching. “However, I want to ensure that you are unharmed. Please tell me, Emma, if there is anything amiss, anything you require I should do for you.” He took another sip of his own tea, eyes penetrating.

“How very observant and considerate you are, Mr. Knightley. Do not worry.” Emma laid down her cup and saucer. “‘Tis but a little blood and I feel quite well. In fact, I dare say, a proper soak shall take care of these not unpleasantly sore muscles, and I shall be more than ready for our next encounter.”

Emma felt immense satisfaction as he spluttered beside her as she rose and ran, as a nymph, from the room and into the bath chamber.

Some time later, Emma descended the stairs. In the breakfast room, she was struck by how pleasant it was for it to be full of those she loved best in the world. Mr. Knightley and Papa were, of course, in attendance, but so too were Isabella and Mr. John Knightley. Serving herself from the sideboard, she assumed her seat beside her husband and chatted amicably about the wedding, the pleasantness of the service, the guests in attendance, and the expectations for the matrimonies to come. A twinge of sadness marred her otherwise perfectly happy state that this could not last forever.

Not desiring to cause Mr. Woodhouse any undue grief, they had all but ignored the upcoming trip in their discussions. However, once breakfast had completed and no one could possibly consume a single scrap of toast more, there was nothing for it. Everything had been packed and was in readiness. It was time for the new Mr. and Mrs. Knightley to commence their wedding journey.

Many tearful goodbyes ensued, but before long, they were snugly tucked into the carriage, which Mr. Knightley had previously used so seldom, and were trundling down the drive and away from Hartfield.

Emma began their journey attempting to settle into reading a book, but she was continually distracted by the passing scenery and dearly wished to mark the point which was the furthest she had ever before traveled.

Mr. Knightley, who was truly reading a rather weighty volume about farming of all things, smiled but now and then at his wife, held her hand, and allowed her to read or not as she pleased without comment.

When the luncheon hour arrived, they departed the carriage. It had been arranged that they would stop and stretch their legs before adjourning to the blanket and hamper set out beneath the tree.

“It is delightful, is it not, to take a stroll across a field after sitting so long in one attitude? I take such pleasure in even the smallest accomplishments. I daresay that is the reason you and I get along so well, for it would not do to have two such serious souls together always,” Emma teased.

Mr. Knightley smiled in acknowledgement, “I do attest that I have many serious interests. And, I suppose that you do revel in all accomplishments. But I confess, there are many reasons for my love for you, Emma.” He led her to their meal. “Come, let us partake. What will you have?”

Emma joined him, pouting, for he had not given her what she had wished, a compliment.

Unsensing, Mr. Knightley enjoyed his meal. Before long, he recalled the similarities between this picnic and the rather dreadful one at Box Hill.

Indignation flared at Emma’s breast. She could not understand why he would bring up such unpleasant business. Did he still believe her to be so frivolous, vain, and mean spirited? Surely not. Regardless, she was in no mood for an argument at present. Claiming an excess of heat and a headache, she excused herself to the carriage, whereupon she feigned sleep for the remainder of the journey. She could not help but remember his disdain for vain, silly wives, and thoughts of it circled her head.

When at last they reached the inn, Emma immediately retired to her bedchamber. After receiving a tray in her room and consuming her supper alone, she sent a note to Mr. Knightley claiming that the headache remained and she was far too sore from the journey to have him attend her that night.

The next morning, she again broke her fast in her room, and after much fussing over her hair and clothes, joined her husband in their carriage.

He was the one to first break silence. “Are you feeling much recovered this morning, Emma?” He studied her intently for signs of lingering illness.

Never able to hold a grudge, Emma sighed and attended the matter directly. “Do you find me vain and silly?”

Mr. Knightley’s brows drew together. “What? No. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You did yourself, Mr. Knightley. You told me that gentlemen do not want such wives. But now you seem to have got yourself one. I can not but wonder if are now regretting it.” Emma averted her face and stared out the window.

Taking her hands in his, Mr. Knightley addressed her firmly. “Emma. I am not sure what I have done to bring this on, but you have my deepest apologies for whatever I have said or done in the past to cause you pain. I assure you, dearest Emma, that I feel nothing but pleasure to have you as my wife.”

A tear escaped and ran down Emma’s cheek. She hastily swiped it away with the back of her hand. “But yesterday you recalled Box Hill. At that particular time, you called me a whole host of names and condemned my actions. I have repented and made amends. I see no reason for you to bring up unpleasant memories, to what, to accuse me and ensure it does not come to pass again? I guarantee it will not, and I do not need your censure.”

A pained expression crossed Mr. Knightley’s face. He shut his eyes and drew in a deep breath before returning them to her.

“I am sorry. It was thoughtlessly done. I merely thought of how seldom I have had occasion to picnic of late. Your actions at the time were wrong, I stand by that, but you are correct in asserting that you rectified the situation and have behaved admirably since. I meant no reprimand yesterday. Please accept my apology and forgive me, love.”

Emma swallowed and nodded. She wiped at her eyes and went so far as to offer a smile before resuming her perusal of the countryside.

Seemingly unable to decide whether to continue the discussion, Mr. Knightley studied her for some time before returning to his book.

For Emma, a book was no good, for she was unable to concentrate upon it while the carriage bumped and bounced. Today, she had fixed upon the idea of needlepoint as the best occupation for the journey. She withdrew the project she had recently begun with Mrs. Weston’s assistance. It was a sweet ribbon to be embroidered with flowers, later to be affixed to a new bonnet.

For some time, this form of employment was suitable, and Emma made some progress. Then, suddenly, a particularly harsh bump jolted her and Emma drove the needle into her finger quite dreadfully, drawing blood. “Ouch!”

Mr. Knightley quickly put aside his book and took her finger into his own hands. “Are you all right?” He examined her finger and her face. Pursing his lips he continued, “You should be more careful, Emma. I would not for the world have you injured.” Seeing for himself that it was not too bad, he pressed his lips into a line, while his brow unfurrowed. “I know but of one cure for this.” And with that, he popped her finger into his own mouth. He sucked on it lightly and soothed his tongue over it.

Unable to respond, Emma stared on. He had asked a question, or had he not, she wondered. But so absorbed was she by the actions of his mouth that her mind was unable to grasp it. His eyes flicked to hers as he ran his teeth along her finger as he drew it out. Emma gasped and clutched her other hand to her breast. Suddenly flooded with memories, her telltale blush made its appearance.

Knowing she was fine, but wishing to prolong the contact, he merely pretended to reexamine her finger, while truly watching for her reaction.

Emma reached out and brushed his jaw with her other hand. He caught her thumb with his teeth and gave to it the same treatment as the previous digit.

Emma whimpered.

George cautioned her to silence. Tugging her hand, he pulled her across the carriage and into his lap. The needlework was abandoned upon the seat.

He stroked her cheeks. “I was sorry you were feeling ill last night, my love.” He offered a faint smile. “I had thought you had promised me a repetition.”

Emma tilted her head up, trying to hide her deepening blush, and stared at the ceiling. But she could not help herself and pressed her body forward into him. “I was very cross with you.”

“I am sorry. I did say so. Forgive me.”

Guiding her face down, he pressed his lips to hers, and she melted. Nimble fingers loosened her bonnet and it too was discarded on the seat opposite. A series of steadily more intimate kisses were pressed to her mouth and Emma employed every ounce of the knowledge she had gained to return them.

His hands reached down and caressed her nipples through her dress, shushing her moans.

He kissed her hands, her wrists, and up her arms. He gave each nipple a quick bite. He nibbled at her neck.

Emma was writhing across his lap trying to be silent.

He lifted her skirt and encouraged her to straddle him.

“What?” she asked, distracted.

“Astride” he replied.

He steadied her hips as she shifted position while the carriage rocked around them.

Skirts around her hips in a most brazen manner, Emma grabbed onto George's hair, kissing him for all she was worth, employing her lips, teeth, and tongue in the way he had instructed her. And her efforts were not in vain, for she could feel the hardening length beneath her and hear the soft groans of pleasure emanating from deep in his throat. It really was too bad that his neck was covered so and she was unable to find out what reaction kissing him there would elicit. She had so enjoyed it when he had done it to her.

He settled his thumb against her most sensitive place and circled it languidly. Emma shamelessly sought out her pleasure, rocking atop him. He swallowed her quiet sounds with his mouth as his fingers pushed her up and over the edge.

He held her as her breathing slowed and her body relaxed, petting her back. “Do you feel better now?”

“Much,” she breathed. Noticing that he seemed to be settling and preparing to end their encounter, Emma frowned. “As I recall, this is not yet complete.”

“Hmm,” he smiled into her hair. "We need go no further. We can wait until tonight, and our bed, where it will be more comfortable."

"Surely there is a way to do it now."

"You, my dear, have many fewer layers below than I. I would never be able to be put back together in such a way as to not alert the servants to our… adventures.”

"Humph, it cannot be so difficult as all that."

Moving to his buttons, she deftly had them undone in moments. His member was already eager for her attentions, straining for freedom. Releasing him, she untucked his shirt. Again, she tentatively touched him, running trembling fingers up his length. Taking her hand firmly in his own, George guided her. Using only his motions, he showed her how to grip it, how to slide up and down, firmer and faster than she would have thought.

Evidently growing frustrated, George growled. He lifted her by the hips easily and brought her down upon him, sheathing himself in one motion. This time, they both bit back groans. They moved with the rhythm of the carriage.

Emma found herself gripping his cravat, pulling his hair.

George bit her neck. He reached between them and stroked her with perfectly timed fingers into oblivion for the second time.

When they finally came to their senses, it truly was a struggle to put each other back to rights. Eventually, they found it necessary to claim that the ride was so incredibly rough that it had rumpled their clothing beyond reason, all the while sharing secret smiles.

At the inn, they took the expected two rooms, but they only shared the one.


	3. The Sea At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at the seaside.

Emma, having been prepared by her father, her sister, and even Mr. Knightley to expect the journey to be long and arduous, had believed they had made too much of it as the result of personal distaste for travel or concern for her wellbeing. Upon departing Hartfield, she had been convinced that she should not dislike it nearly half so much as they had made out. Thus far, Emma had found much of the journey to be quite enjoyable, but if she were to be completely honest, she would have to admit it was for reasons best left unspoken in company.

This all being said, Emma still hadn’t expected to be so sore and stiff when finally reaching their destination. Upon their arrival, Mr. Knightley handed her out of the carriage himself. After climbing down and stretching, Emma found herself leaning upon him for support. Her legs resisted the movement after so long still, and she could scarcely feel them. And, for all that she had not moved much, she found herself exhausted. Jostling along in a carriage did not lend itself to much sleep. Not to mention her nighttime activities with her husband. In fact, she was so tired that she was unable even to notice much of the house at first inspection.

Mr. Knightley had let the same house in Southend which his brother had visited previously. Mr. John Knightley’s recommendation had been received thankfully and there had been no hesitation in immediately writing to the owner to inquire as to a vacancy. Lodging secured in advance, many of their belongings had been sent before them. As such, upon arriving at her bedchamber, Emma found nothing wanting. Thusly, she retired directly and, after a much needed soak, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

As the first beams of sunlight sifted through the curtains, Emma awoke. She stretched her arms about herself only to find the bed cold and vacant. She blinked her eyes open and frowned, wondering where her husband could be at such an hour. Had he come to her bed at all? Emma was unable to recall.

Peeking her head into the hallway, Emma looked about. The house was still dark and she could hear but the faint shuffle of servants stirring in the distance. As she had not yet had a tour of the house, she was unsure which room Mr. Knightley had taken. It did not appear that one adjoined hers. Pursing her lips, Emma crept down the hall and tried the first door she came to, and the next, but was unable to locate her husband.

It would not do to be found in such a state of undress by the servants. Sighing, Emma shrugged and returned to her own chamber. She would ring the bell, she decided, and dress before resuming her search.

As she prepared for the day, pristinely dressing and securing every lock of hair in its place, Emma questioned her maid as to Mr. Knightley’s whereabouts. Thankfully it was not necessary for her to find her own way, as upon completing her toilette, Biddy led her through the house and pointed her into the dining room where he waited.

Before entering the room, Emma perused her husband, sitting at the head of the table, reading the newspaper. She smiled and smoothed her skirts. She had selected her sweet lavender and green dress today. She felt a pang at the remembrance of the last time Mr. Knightley had seen her in this dress, the day after her misstep with Miss Bates, the day she went to apologize, the day he had been unable even to look her in the eyes. But, thought Emma, this dress did show her to such advantage, and surely Mr. Knightley was unlikely to have noticed nor remember what she had worn on that distant day. Drawing in a deep breath, Emma swept into the room.

At her arrival, Mr. Knightley looked up and smiled. His smiles had been so rare before their engagement and marriage, mused Emma. Now, he gifted them to her daily. And Emma was not sorry for the change. Rising from his seat, he drew out her own.

“Good morning, Mrs. Knightley.” Emma’s skin prickled in awareness of his proximity as she assumed her seat.

“Good morning, Mr. Knightley.” She purposefully allowed her hand to brush against his and relished in the goosepimples rising on her arms.

“How did you sleep?” He inquired as he returned to his own chair.

Emma lifted an eyebrow. “Very well, and you?” She let out a breath and purposefully attempted to relinquish the arousal that had begun deep within her.

“Fine, fine.” He shook out his newspaper, evidently about to resume reading.

“And where?” Emma watched as he turned the page. She poured herself a cup of tea.

“Hmm?”

“Where did you rest your head last night, dear husband? For I dare say it was not upon my pillow.” Emma lifted the cup to her lips and savored the first sip.

A ghost of a smile passed his lips at her phrasing and he looked at her over the paper. “Ah. Was I missed, wife?”

Emma, frustrations growing, frowned her prettiest frown at him. She set her cup down with nary a tinkle of china. “You know full well that you were. Why then do you tease me?”

Mr. Knightley barked a laugh and set his paper aside. “Well... I had not known I would be missed so. I shall endeavor to attend you nightly henceforth. This evening past, I had simply thought you too tired for my attentions. You seemed dead upon your feet, dear Emma, likely to be blown over by a mere gust of wind. I thought it best that rest be the order of the day, or, should I say, night.”

“Ha. You are terribly funny.”

“Do not be cross, Emma. I only thought for your health and comfort.” He leaned forward in his chair, reaching a hand out toward her.

Unable to maintain the cross countenance, she took the proffered hand and squeezed it briefly, communicating that all was well. “By the by, where is your chamber? The one in which you retired last night.”

“Directly across from yours, dearest.” He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss upon it before returning it once more.

They quieted as breakfast was placed before them and Emma observed the fine furnishings of the room. Rain pattered the window frames lightly as they enjoyed the tea, breakfast, and each other’s company. The newspaper remained closed on the table.

Upon quitting breakfast, the pair decided to tour the house, as the downpour remained consistent out of doors. They first reached the sitting room and found it situated much like that of Hartfield. They also toured a good size drawing room, dining room, and music room. Lastly, they came upon a quite extensive library. Immediately sensing the keen interest of Mr. Knightley at seeing the numerous new volumes, Emma decided to leave him to it and returned to her room in search of her writing case, as she wanted to send off quick missives to her family and friends to alert them to their safe arrival.

At luncheon, Emma noted that the weather had calmed considerably. While still gray and downcast, the rain had ceased to fall, and the glimmer of the sun could be viewed peaking through the clouds.

“I should very much like to quit the house this afternoon and view the seaside,” she announced.

Mr. Knightley turned his eyes to the windows and frowned. “I do not think that would be wise today, for it seems sure the skies shall open once more. It would not do to be drenched. Not with the weather so unseasonably cool as it is.”

“Still, we have traveled all this way just for me to meet the ocean. I have neglected its acquaintance long enough. It shall not do for me to continue to do so. As a first meeting, it can occur but once. You have brought me all this way for this singular pleasure.” Emma pushed her lips together into a familiar pout. “I do so long to see it.”

“Emma,” he sighed and shook his head.

“I have heard your concerns and deem them excessive. Why, I can see the sun just there!” She pointed out the window. “Surely, the storm has passed and all will be clear the remainder of the day. I do so wish to see the sea.”

She observed the firm line of his jaw.

“Very well, it appears that I shall be making this visit on my own.” She darted her eyes towards him, hoping to find his resolution softening.

“Very well…” She twisted the napkin upon her lap and sighed. Still, she could detect no change.

“Very well, husband, do enjoy your books. I shall return before supper.” Emma moved to rise from her chair.

Quick as a flash, Mr. Knightley was behind her, hands on her shoulders. “I see that you will not be moved in this, Emma, even met by greater concern and sense.” He let out a quick breath, seeming to steady himself. “This once, I shall acquiesce to your scheme. We shall go out but briefly, remain not a moment above a quarter of an hour, and return directly.”

Smiling to herself, Emma replied, “Of course.” She rose, placed a quick peck upon his cheek, and practically skipped to her room to dress for the outing.

By the time the carriage traveled down the lane, Emma was a bit out of spirits. Her maid and then the coachman had both tried to warn her off of the journey. She had been sure that Mr. Knightley would seize upon any excuse and the trip would surely be called off. But, he had stayed the course and kept his word and they were off at last. Nonetheless, she perceived, from the corner of her eye, the looks of disapproval aimed her way.

Upon reaching the seaside and being handed out, Emma froze in wonder. Her eyes widened as they took in the vast waves approaching the shore, breaking, and retreating. The sand beneath her shoes crunched as she stepped forward, entranced. A gull flew overhead, calling to its fellows. Salty air permeated her nose and throat as she drew in a deep breath to exclaim at all she witnessed.

Through it all, Mr. Knightley stood beside her. She glanced over and observed a small smile before he schooled his expression.

“Shall we walk? We may take a few steps before we must return. I am convinced that the rain shall resume at any moment.” Mr. Knightley eyed the clouds above them, disapproving.

Wordlessly, Emma accepted his arm, lifted the hem of her skirt and walked a ways down the beach. She ached to retrieve shells, feel the water and sand upon her toes, and explore more fully. But before she knew it, it was time to return and she was again being bundled into the carriage. The ride home, she hugged herself, for the temperature truly was cooler than she had expected, and peered out the window, anxious for the time when she might return to the sea.

Some time later, after dressing for dinner, Emma was still a bit chilled. Standing before the fire, she lifted her skirts and warmed her backside, enjoying the warmth as it spread across her cheeks.

To her surprise, the door suddenly opened, Emma didn’t look around because she thought it was likely just the maid. “Biddy, did you forget something?”

When no answer was forthcoming, Emma glanced over and found none other than Mr. Knightley, mouth agape, staring avidly upon her exposed flesh. Hurriedly, she dropped her skirts and turned from him. She covered her crimson cheeks.

She could hear his footsteps softly cross the carpet, and felt his body approach hers; but still she jumped when his hands landed upon her shoulders.

“Were you cold, love?”

Emma mumbled unintelligibly into her hands.

“Did you feel a draft?” He murmured against her neck before placing a kiss upon it. “About the knees, perhaps?”

Emma couldn’t quite stifle a giggle.

Recalling herself, she clenched her fists and turned around, full indignation. “What are you doing here? The dinner bell has not yet been rung. I thought we were to meet there? I was not expecting you. How dare you come upon me so immodest?!” Every part of her body and voice fairly shook with her anguish.

Mr. Knightley tilted his head, brows drawing together slightly. “Do you forget, dearest, that I am your husband? Have we not spent enough days and nights in each other’s company to dispense with unnecessary modesty? For I have had the immense pleasure of viewing your body more than once.”

“Not during the daylight!”

“Are you forgetting the carriage? For I assure you, I have not.”

She swatted at him. “You did not see my body then. Merely felt it.”

“Ah. I had not made the distinction.” It was an effort, it would seem, for him to hold back his smile at this time. “Will you allow me the liberty to see it now?” His hands upon her, he turned her away from the fire yet again. “How were you when I came in? Like this?”

Emma nods.

“No, no. This isn’t quite right though, is it.” Slowly he bunched up the fabric and lifted it up, up, up, until Emma could feel her bottom exposed to the open air yet again.

She bit her lip, torn. Knowing her enjoyment of their intimacies, a part of her wished to continue, but another part held her back, worried of being seen as too immodest.

“You are beautiful, Emma, every inch.” One hand, still gripping fabric, settled on her hip and drew her back until she met his front and his obvious arousal. His other hand traced the lines of her bottom and the tops of her legs.

She groaned and pressed herself into him even more shamefully. “What are you doing to me, husband? You have made me a wanton. And we two dressed and about to go down to dinner.”

“Only for me. Always for me. You are perfection.” He punctuated these statements with caresses behind and kisses above. “Nothing you do with me could ever be shameful or wrong. As long as you are enjoying yourself, and I am enjoying myself, which I always do when I am with you, everything is as it should be. Do not worry so. It is just us two and dinner can wait. Give yourself up to it. Do as you wish.”

Emma heeded his advice. She ground herself into him in a deliberate circle that left them both yearning for more.

George stepped them forward to the settee. “Place your hands upon it love.”

Emma frowned, but complied. Bending over, she placed her palms upon the seat, feeling the soft velvet beneath her fingertips.

She felt as her skirt flipped up completely, leaving her entire bottom half exposed. She shivered as hands traced over her hips, her bottom, and down her legs.

George knelt behind her and slid his fingers to the special place between her legs.

Emma whimpered and gripped the cushion before her. She had not thought anything could be done this way. But then again, there were turning out to be so many things she had not known about how to be with one’s husband. She felt a twinge of nerves at being so exposed, but in her excitement to discover what would happen next, she paid it no mind.

She was not disappointed, for the next thing she felt was the warm breath against her center. “I love you, Emma.” With each word, his lips danced near her, but only the merest brushes made contact. She moaned. “You are beautiful here. You are honey. You are nectar. You are decadence.” Every word increased her desire and need to feel him against her. She whimpered and writhed, arching her back, but was unable to gain the contact of his tongue against her, which she so desired. “Do you want this, Emma?” She moaned again. “Tell me, dearest.”

Unable to withstand another syllable spoken against her increasingly swollen apex, she cried out, “Yes! Yes, I want this. I need this! I need your tongue against me. Touch me now, husband, or I shall surely perish of this longing that so tortures me. And you who have caused my death, I shall without a doubt-”

Words ceased to form as his mouth at last came fully upon her. Emma’s fingers flexed and her body trembled as she tried to hold back her sounds of pleasure. With his lips and tongue he teased and caressed until Emma was shaking with desire.

Abruptly, George withdrew and stood behind her. Emma nearly collapsed in tears of dismay. How could he leave her so frustrated?! But before she had time to form many more thoughts on the matter, he had removed his trousers and was touching her once more, this time with the thick, firm head of his erection.

He slid it up and down the folds of her sex before finding her entrance. However, once he found the opening, he did not drive forward as she had expected him to do. He had pushed in a bare inch before retreating and slowly repeating the action. Again and again, Emma anticipated and desired deeper penetration. Again and again, he confounded her with his shallow motions.

She could feel herself growing both more agitated and aroused with each pass. Quite unexpectedly, just as she had been about to scream, he entered her fully, and a deep throated moan escaped her. He repeated the process of shallow thrusts followed by deeper ones until she was on the brink of hysteria.

Perhaps sensing that she was nearing the end of her tether, George’s hand found its way to the place that ached for him. Now providing full and repeated strokes in and out of her body and joining it with the movements of his hand, Emma reached her climax and truly did cry herself hoarse as she toppled over the edge.

Dinner quite forgotten, they collapsed upon the settee in a tangle and dozed pleasurably in each others arms. Much later, when the pangs of hunger made themselves known, they called down for a tray and adjourned to the bed to revel in each other until morning.


	4. Sea Air and Sea Bathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy fluffy fluff
> 
> Fluffy feelings and also a puppy for extra fluff

The next days, while stormy, were spent pleasantly in each other’s company. However, at the end of this time, Emma was beginning to feel cooped up and deeply desirous of being out of doors. 

At last, her wish was granted one morning. The air was clear and bright and it was agreed upon that they should return to the sea. Sea air was well and good. After all, Emma presumed she had been taking it in since their arrival, but what she truly longed for was sea bathing. 

Prior to their trip, Emma had had quite the discussion with Isabella regarding bathing machines. To be honest, they had sounded dreadfully uncomfortable, but not having seen one herself, she had resisted the urge to comment. 

Apparently, to preserve the modesty of a lady, a contraption of a room was wheeled into the water with her in it! Then she could dip her toes as she chose before being bumped and jostled back up. Truly, it seemed like much effort for little reward. 

Not to mention, Emma had seen no sight of such boxes when she and Mr. Knightley had last made their brief visit. Perhaps the weather kept visitors away? Perhaps they were out of season at present? Emma did not know. But she did know that she had no desire to climb precariously into a small box only to spend a few minutes with the water, alone. 

To this end, Emma had prepared for the day they would finally return to the shore. She had inquired of the cook, the housekeeper, and every other servant she could catch, as to a secluded bit of beachfront where she might visit undisturbed. And she was not disappointed. 

Armed with this knowledge, she approached her husband, and for once she found no opposition to her scheme, and soon after luncheon, they were on their way to the sea.

Emma’s nearly thrummed with excitement. Her wish was finally coming to fruition. The carriage bumbled along and she valiantly maintained a calm outward countenance. However, had she been presented with a mirror, her reflection would have surprised her in all that it gave away through the sparkle in her eyes, the twitch of her lips, and the rosy color upon her cheeks. 

After what seemed an eternity to Emma, the carriage halted and the driver called down to them. As this path was not often traveled, the pair were obliged to leave the carriage and travel some ways on foot. But this was not at all onerous as the day was mild, the sun friendly, and the waves within hearing. 

The pair were greeted by the calling of gulls that flew overhead, and mere moments later, as they came round the bend in the small dirt path, the sight of the golden sands and blue-green waters ensnared Emma. She drew up short with her hands clutched to her breast, eyes wide. She bit her lip before grinning broadly at her husband. 

Without warning, she sprinted onto the beach. Still unaccustomed to the way the sand gave beneath her feet and the spirited activity of running, she soon stumbled and fell, laughing. 

Still smiling, Emma lifted her face, hand upon her hat, to meet the sun. It shone upon her merrily and she enjoyed its caresses upon her face. 

Mr. Knightley followed at a slower pace, continence responding in kind to his wife. When she reached beneath her skirts and removed her slippers and stockings, his eyebrows shot upwards, seemingly in shock. 

Emma imagined his thoughts to be quite scandalized, but did not cease in her activity. With a saucy wink, she tossed them towards him and skipped toward the water’s edge. 

She called out, “Surely there can be no harm in this, husband. Do remove your own and join me. There is but us about. We did find the most secluded of locations. I did so long to feel the sand beneath my toes. It feels like nothing I have before known. It is surprisingly cool and wet and gritty. I must find out how the rushing waves feel as well. Come with me!” Emma held out her arms, palms up, towards him. 

To her surprised delight, he joined her. After stowing their belongings on a nearby rock, he rolled up the hem of his pants, showing a scandalous amount of ankle. He ran towards her and scooped her into a bear of a hug, spinning her around so that her feet left the ground. 

Emma laughed in delight; and as the revolutions slowed, she bracketed his face with her hands and placed a kiss upon his lips. 

Deepening the connection, George’s tongue swept along her lips before he used his teeth to gently bite and tease. He slowly lowered her to the ground. As her body slid against his, she groaned into his mouth, warmth blooming in her belly. 

Unwilling to give up this exploration of the sea, however, Emma broke off. She grasped his hands in hers and managed to get him to spin around. “Is not the sea like music, dear husband. Can you not hear it?” She began to hum along in a well known melody. With some coaxing, she convinced him to dance along with her on the shore. 

When the song ended, and they stood staring into each other’s eyes, matching grins on their faces, Emma stood upon her tiptoes to place a quick peck upon his mouth before letting go entirely to prance down the beach. 

“Come, husband. Let us take a walk!”

Mr. Knightley sighed and shook his head, but he was still smiling. “For how long, Emma? It would not do for us to be caught in this fashion. It is quite unseemly for a gentleman or lady to be walking about, feet bare.”

“Not long, I assure you. I want to collect shells to give to all my little nieces and nephews. And Harriet, of course. She would love some. Do leave our shoes there. They will be safe upon that rock and we can retrieve them on our way back. They will mark our place upon the shore so that we will know how we should return.” 

“Oh very well. Lead the way, and I shall follow.” Hands in his pockets, he looked upon Emma’s antics, still grinning. 

She gathered many fine looking shells, brown and black and white, all the while running playfully from the frigid water. Before long, however, her seemingly endless and abundant energy gave way and she was obliged to sit and rest. 

Assuming the seat beside her in the sand, Mr. Knightley tucked a stray blonde curl behind Emma’s ear. “Have you had your fill yet, dearest? Has the sea been everything you were hoping for?”

“Ha!” Emma handed him her shells. “I do not believe I could have my fill even with one hundred such days upon the beach with you.” 

“Hmm.” He carefully wrapped her shells in a handkerchief and placed them in his pocket. “Was there anything else you were hoping to do today? It is getting late and we should be returning before too long.”

“Oh, just a bit longer! I noticed a rocky outcropping just over there,” she pointed. “I was so hoping to find a mermaid’s grotto or a smuggler’s cave. It matters not if it is true. It would be a wonderful story to share in letter’s home. Let us explore just a little more.” 

“Very well. But let us rest a bit longer.” Mr. Knightley stared out at the waves, crashing upon the shore. “Is there anything you would like to do while we are at the sea this season?”

Emma frowned. “I do have a list you know, but it is in my reticule, in the carriage. Let’s see what I can remember of it.” She tapped her forefinger against her lower lip. Lowering the hand, she counted off on her fingers, “Shop, make new acquaintances, attend a ball, attend dinner parties, and of course sea air and sea bathing regularly.” 

Mr. Knightley laughed and asked where he figured on her list. 

She blushed and replied that she had hoped he would do them all with her. All of them and more of their other… interactions.

“Of course I will, dear Emma.” Cupping the back of her head, he drew her towards him and placed a kiss upon her hair, upon her brow, the swell of her cheek, and finally the line of her jaw. 

“I never knew you could be like this... That we could be like this. Is this what all marriages are like, do you think?” Emma paused to consider. “Surely not. Isabella and John seem to be but always bickering, when they see each other at all.” Emma frowned and brushed the tiny grains from the folds of her dress. “Is that our destiny? Are we happy together because we are still but beginning? Will you lose the sheen of love that shields your vision from my many faults?” She cleared her throat. “How long before you again find me willful, ignorant, and vain? For I have not changed all that much.” She sniffed as she tucked her head into her shoulder.

A firm hand came to her back and rubbed gentle circles upon it. “My dearest Emma. Do you remember my proposal? I said, as I recall, that dearest you shall always be. I was not speaking in jest. I am not given to exaggeration.”

When that was not enough to cause Emma to meet his eyes, he sighed and continued. “Do you know when my love for you first began? I did not, at the time. It started far sooner than I spoke it out loud.” He leaned back in the sand and seemed pleased when Emma did at last turn towards him. 

“I have asked myself many times the following. Why did I appear nightly at your home to join you and your father for dinner unless I was out of town? Why did I become so agitated by your declarations that you would never marry? Why was I so put off by the very mention of Frank Churchill? Why, do you think, Emma? After many hours of consideration, I have come to believe that my love for you was rooted years ago. I think perhaps the year you were meant to come out to society. Do you remember? There was much discussion on the topic at the time. It had been put off for years. Far later than other young ladies had their debuts. It was thought by all but your father that it was time. It was even sorted that Isabella might host you. But then you declined at the last moment and chose to remain at home with your father. And I was… relieved. So very, very relieved. I did not take the time to examine the emotion at the time.” 

Emma had turned fully towards him, eyes searching his, her lips parted softly.

George cleared his throat. “Since then, you have never failed to insite me to great emotion. That small plant began to flower and bloom after Mrs. Weston married and you truly came into your own. The undercurrent of the love I felt for you that grew daily until I could no longer withstand it. Until I had no choice but to speak it aloud and hope against hope that I could convince you to return even a fraction of it.”

He sat up and cupped her cheek gently. “Don’t you see, Emma. No matter our arguments. No matter our follies. No matter the people who have gone and come in our lives. My love for you has but strengthened. I may not always agree with your actions and choices, Emma, and I reserve the right to act as friend, confidant, and advisor, but no matter what transpires, my love for you is unshakable.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a brief caress. “I shall love you, Emma, until my dying day, I am afraid.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “What say you? Have you the wherewithal to contend with this cantankerous old man for the rest of our days?”

“Ha!” Emma laughed and wiped at her eyes. “You are neither of those things, husband. And you may trust that I would tell you.” She stared into his face lovingly and was tempted to discover what other caresses she could give and obtain. But remembering this rare chance she had for exploration, she shook her head. 

“All right. You have assuaged me.” She sighed and stood. “Let us press onwards in this adventure. Shall we?”

Standing, the pair shook sand from their garments and resumed their walk toward the rocks Emma had earlier pointed out.

A couple of times, Emma was almost convinced she heard another voice or that she saw a footprint, but it was never clear. Not wanting to give her husband any reason to turn round, which he already seemed prepared to do, she did not mention anything to him. Perhaps it was the wind. 

When they reached the rocking outcropping, they attempted to explore. However, Emma soon found that climbing rocks in one’s bare feet was both slippery and painful. She skirted the water’s edge and they discovered that it was indeed a cave, not deep, as they were able to see straight to the back edge from the mouth, but a cave nonetheless. 

Emma was elated to have such adventures to relate to her friends. She was already crafting the tale in her mind, when a small, whimpering sound startled her. She jumped and grabbed on to Mr. Knightley’s lapels. “Did you hear that?”

Freezing in place, they listened intently. Before long, they heard it again, a soft sound, like a cry, quite pitiful. 

Hands on her shoulders, Mr. Knightley steadied Emma. “Remain here.” Creeping silently, he followed the sound. 

Emma did try to listen to her husband and heed his request. But curiosity got the better of her. It had not sounded dangerous, far from it. Her heart clenched as thoughts of what might have made such a noise raced through her head. 

Near the back of the cave, Mr. Knightley stopped and peered over a large rock. The sound occurred again and pulled at Emma’s chest. She drew forward and too peeked over. 

Her eyes met huge watery blue ones in the face of a skinny, dirty, pup. “Oh!” She exclaimed.

Mr. Knightley turned, frowning. “Emma, I told you to wait by the entrance. There was no telling what may have been back here.” He heaved a put upon sigh.

“But see, it was nothing. Just a poor dog. It looks so thin and frightened.” She reached a hand out toward the animal and allowed it to sniff.

Mr. Knightley pulled her hand back. “Don’t, Emma. We don’t know anything about this creature. It could belong to someone. It could be rabid or ill. It could become aggressive, as many cornered animals do, and attack you. You must not touch it.”

“I think you are entirely mistaken husband. All of your what ifs and coulds and see how it simply shudders, not making a move. It was willing to smell me. It made no indication of malicious intent. We cannot just leave it here to starve and die.” 

Again she reached her hand out and again the pup sniffed at her palm. It gave her a soft lick, right in the center. “Oh you good dog, you. Poor dear. However did you get all the way out here? Where is your mother, you precious thing?” As she spoke, Emma inched forward. She reached out a hand and stroked the dark, shaggy fur on its head. The dog closed its eyes at the attention. 

Mr. Knightley again pulled her back. “I do not know how this mutt came to be here, Emma, but it is not our responsibility. It is past time we return. We are far from our footman and carriage. Even if we wanted to help this creature, we have no way to transport it. Let us return and if you like I will send a boy back to this cave with directions. He can then take it to a farm where it can be properly cared for.” He tried to lead her away.

The dog rose and limped to follow, and Emma's heart broke. Shaking off her husband, she returned to its side and cooed at it. Then she scooped it up into her arms. It was wet and dirty, and it's fur was matted, but it's warm weight was comforting in her arms. 

"Very well. I shall carry it back then. I cannot allow it to try to follow us injured. It might become lost and no boy you sent could find it. Do not worry. I shall do it myself." And she exited the cave, with the pup in her arms. 

Mr. Knightley had no choice but to follow, resigned. 

As Emma walked down the shoreline, she spoke lovingly to the bundle in her arms, remarking upon its fine features and disposition. She shifted the weight more than once. For a pup who appeared mere skin and bones, it was quite unexpectedly heavy. Not wanting to give her husband reason to argue, she continued on. 

She felt her steps slowing as they trudged along and her arms and shoulders ached and drooped in fatigue. The sun was low on the horizon and the wind had increased considerably. Every now and then, shiver's wracked her body.

Without warning, a jacket dropped onto her shoulders. Wordlessly, he took the animal from her arms and strode on ahead purposefully. He called over his shoulder. "This does not mean I condone your actions or that we are keeping this animal. I merely want to hasten our return home.” 

The dog lifted it's furry snout and licked at his chin. Mr. Knightley laughed. "Don't think you can win me over that easily either. I cannot be bought for kisses."

Emma wisely kept her smile to herself as she tucked her arms into the warm wool and followed her husband. 

There was some confusion, however, as they reached the spot where their shoes had been left. An argument ensued about the wisdom of abandoning them in the first place. Which was met with the counter of uncertainty of this was even the correct location. Neither able to find the shoes nor agree upon blame, they were forced to find the path barefoot and return to the carriage. 

Perhaps noticing the atmosphere, neither footman braved uttering a word in regard to either their appearance or the muddy new addition to the party. 

Only the housekeeper, having lived with Mr. Knightley for many years and being accustomed to his odd tendencies had anything to say when they finally returned home. She quickly ordered servants this way and that, leaving no time to gawk or wonder. In all due haste, everyone was bathed, fed, and tucked into bed, not least of all the dog, whom Emma insisted be given a spot by the kitchen fire rather than the stables. 

After a proper looking after, it had been discovered to be a beautiful male with long gray fur. A bit underfed and with a cut foot, but otherwise seeming to be in good health. 

After all the lights had been turned out and even the last servant in bed, Emma had risen to check on her new companion once more. She sat beside the pallet made up near the hearth. Rubbing behind his ears, she whispered, “Mr. Knightley does not know it yet, but you are mine. Do not worry. I have no doubt that he shall agree… In time… with persuasion.” 

She smiled and hummed down at the dog. “You are mine, aren’t you? You just need a name. How about… Reginald?” The dog did not respond. 

“No? Hmm… Jollyboy then?” Nothing. “Also a no, I see. Very well… What do you think of Gallant?”

The soft pink tongue bestowed several kisses upon her hand. 

“That is it then. Gallant you are and Gallant you shall be.” Emma hummed to herself as she made her way on tender feet back to her room and the bed she shared with her husband.


	5. Seldom Indisposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst and plot?
> 
> Emma gets sick. Mr. Knightley is concerned.
> 
> No worries, everyone comes out the other side safely.

The following morning, the Knightleys ventured forth to the village church. The parish was small in comparison to that of Hartfield even. Upon their arrival, they were not greeted, as Emma had expected, and on top of that were obliged to sit in the rearmost pew. Emma did not note anyone of rank among the churchgoers, but it was difficult to judge based upon the backs of women’s hats and men’s coats. Surely a space at the front should have been reserved for ladies and gentlemen in attendance? Emma felt quite slighted, but said nothing of it due to having more important matters to discuss. 

The continual argument of the morning, regarding the dog--Mr. Knightley was of the mind that dogs were work animals, meant to serve a function, hunting, ratting, herding, or the like, but this breed was not one he recognized for any of those services, and not only that, but since dogs are service animals, the master must currently be in want of it, and he would not be a party to theft--was placed on pause as the rector entered the building and all rose to begin the service. 

However, Emma’s mind did not rest. However would she convince her husband to keep Gallant? It was more than evident that no one had cared for nor wanted this poor creature. How could her husband be so callous and refuse to acknowledge this? 

When Emma recalled the pup’s condition when they had found it with its pained expression, tears stung at her eyes and her throat ached. There was nothing for it. She must find a way to keep it. Could it be done in secret, she wondered? Most likely not. Better to find a way to have Mr. Knightley accept it. 

Even as her worries turned to plans and schemes, Emma was troubled by a painful scratching at the back of her throat and she was obliged more than once to withdraw and discreetly use her handkerchief. She sighed. While lace was beautifully in fashion, it did not function as well as one might desire. 

By the end of the service, Emma was more than ready to return home and acquire some tea; hopefully that would settle these odd discomforts. But she knew that greetings and compliments to the rector must be made before they might do so. However, again they were obliged to wait near the rear of the queue to exit the church. No one here seemed to be yet aware of Emma’s consequence. She made a mental note to find a way to address this mishap so that it might not occur in future. 

At last, they found their way to the rector and his wife, a stout, graying couple. To her absolute horror, after introductions were made to the Jones’s and the sermon duly complimented, Mr. Knightley immediately inquired as to whether anyone in the vicinity were missing a dog.

Emma gasped in outraged surprise, but her outburst was caught up in a sudden fit of coughing. Horrified at her indecorous display, she watched the concerned faces of her companions, and reddened at the length of time required for her to again regain composure. 

“I apologize.” Was that her voice? Whatever was the matter with it? She rubbed at her neck. 

The couple made murmured noises of concern and told her of course not to worry herself a bit about it.

“It is a great pleasure to have you attend my humble service. We are always glad to make new acquaintances, and from such a distance! How long do you intend to remain in Southend?” Mr. Jones smiled at them kindly, watery eyes expectantly waiting.

“We have come on our wedding trip and have let Nearfield for a full month. My brother recommended it. You may remember him and his wife and children. They visited a year ago.”

“Ah, yes, indeed. We greatly enjoyed their stay. We called upon them regularly. However, all of their rowdy children should really be seen and not heard, if you ask me. It really does tire a body out. But as the father is the head of the household, I would not dream of assuming his position and reprimanding them.” He paused at a frown from his wife. “However, they did make us some very pretty gifts while they were here. And it has been quite quiet since.” He nodded to himself.

“Hmm,” returned Mr. Knightley. “As I was saying earlier, we found a pup in a small cave on the coast, not far from here. He has large paws, a gangly body, and gray fur. I’ve no idea the breed. Bit like a wolf, honestly. Has anyone had such an animal go missing of late?”

Mr. Jones pursed his lips and shared a look with his wife. “I’ve not heard anything, but I shall keep an ear out. However, to judge by where the animal was found, it is probably safe to assume it is without master.”

Emma broke in, glaring daggers at her husband, who appeared not to notice, for trying to get rid of her pet, “Yes-” She gave another cough and apologized. “Yes, and it was terribly thin and hurt as well.” She cleared her throat, unable to continue. 

Mrs. Jones eyed Emma with concerned brown eyes. All kindness, she added, “It is a kindness to look after all of God’s creatures, especially those who are neglected. Wouldn't you say that to look after it would be God’s own work, dear?”

Her husband was distracted by the actions of the curate at the back of the church and gave a short, “Yes, yes, of course dear. You are right.”

Mrs. Jones beamed at the Knightleys and patted Emma’s arm, as Mr. Jones toddled to the pulpit and began gesturing at the curate. “We must have you to dine at the rectory. Send us a note with your particulars-”

Again Emma drew breath, and again she began to cough. She shook her head and closed her eyes, willing it to stop. 

Mr. Knightley scrutinized his wife, brows drawing down. “Do excuse us. It seems my wife is unwell. Please do let me know if you think of anyone missing an animal such as I described, and we would be happy to join you for whichever date you name.”

Guiding her arm to link through his, he led her down the church steps and into their waiting carriage. 

The return journey was silent. Mr. Knightley watched Emma, evidently concerned. Emma, sniffled and stared out the window, a headache forming. She longed to rest. Unable to muster the energy to continue their argument, she simply murmurred, “No one wants the poor creature, except me. I can care for it. You need do nothing.” Even those small sentiments caused another wave of coughing, precluding any reply. 

Upon reaching the house, Emma at once stomped off to the kitchens, to see Gallant and acquire some tea with heaps of honey. 

Apparently, Mr. Knightley had remained out of doors because before long, she heard his voice from outside the open kitchen door. He was speaking with another man she did not recognize the voice of. The stable master, perhaps? She couldn’t hear much and was not overinterested, but the voices approached and became louder and clearer. She put down her empty tea cup and absently patted Gallant’s sleepy head as she listened.

“...But do you know what breed this might be? I confess, I’ve never seen the like.”

“It looks to be an Irish Wolfhound perhaps. Fairly uncommon hereabouts. Great brutes, they are. Heard they make grand guard dogs, though. I think the one you got there’s a runt. He’s far too tame to strike anyone with fear. Probably he was taken to be drowned. Common practice, innut?”

Emma gasped, tears pricking her eyes. Drowned? For being kind and small? She could not fathom. Scooping Gallant into her arms, she rushed to her rooms and locked the door. 

Many hours later, Emma was dozing on the chaise lounge, hand protectively draped over her pet, when the door rattled. She bolted upright, and her head spun. She was still not feeling at all up to snuff. 

“Emma?” She heard through the door. Mr. Knightley, she thought.

“Emma, open the door. Are you well? You did not come down to supper.”

Emma carefully made her way to the door. 

“Emma, open the door.”

“Why?” She rasped. 

“Why? What do you mean, Emma. Open the door, love. You do not sound well.”

“Gallant is mine. I shan’t let you take him.”

“What? Emma, I cannot hear you.”

Emma attempted to swing the door open dramatically to yell that she would never consent to giving the dog up to be killed. However, when she did manage to wrench open the accursed door, she overbalanced and stumbled.

Strong arms caught her, and as she leaned into the strong chest of her husband and was greeted by his familiar scent, she nearly cried in relief. Deep within her soul, she recognized the part of herself that longed to put their arguments aside, the part that craved connection, the part that longed for the comfort he provided. 

Her brain struggled to remind her heart why it couldn’t take that comfort now. Regardless, she lacked the strength to push herself away.

“Emma. Emma! What is wrong, love? You’re burning up!”

Emma closed her eyes and rested against her husband, enjoying the sound of his voice, but not taking in his words. 

Swiftly, she felt his arm come beneath her knees and lift her from the ground. “Mmm.” She snuggled closer.

As they crossed the room, Emma caught sight of herself in the tall mirror they passed. Disheveled, flushed, and glassy-eyed, she almost didn’t recognize herself. The vague inclination to attempt to straighten herself floated through her mind, but she was unable to latch onto the idea. 

Abruptly, she felt herself being lowered onto the soft cushions of the bed. Mr. Knightley carefully covered her from toes to chin before crossing the chamber to the bell pull. 

Mere moments, or an eternity--Emma was having difficulty keeping track--later, her maid appeared, and quiet voices conversed at the threshold, but Emma was able to catch bits of the conversation. 

“Doctor”

“Unwell”

“Feverish”

“Cool water”

“Tea”

“Dog”

All these words and more failed to retain her attention, except for the last. She bolted upright and made to leave the bed. 

“No,” she rasped. “No, Gallant is mine. You cannot take him.”

Mr. Knightley rushed to her side. “Emma, dearest, you are ill. Get back in bed at once.”

“No, never. I am never ill. I am seldom even indisposed. Ask father.”

“Yes, but now you are and you must care for yourself. Back to bed.” He assisted her in laying down and again covered her.

Biddy came forward and scooped the pup into her arms. Suddenly remembering what she was about, Emma again sat up. “No,” she tried to yell, but was caught in a spasm of violent coughing.

Seeing to which she referred, Mr. Knightley shook his head and sighed. “Worry not, dearest Emma. Your dog is safe. You may keep it. I have done my utmost to locate the owner and am convinced it has none.” 

When Emma continued to attempt to rise, he reiterated, “He is safe, I say. Biddy will take him to the kitchen. She will feed him and see to his needs. You need not worry. He is not to be taken from you. However, a dog may not stay in the bed chamber. It is not good at the best of times. It makes everything dirty and muddy. And we shan't even discuss the smell-”

Emma threw back the covers.

Mr. Knightley rushed to add, as he guided her back and gently covered her again, “But he shall be well cared for while you rest and recover, Emma. See how he goes willingly. I am sure that he will enjoy Biddy’s company immensely. Please rest while we await the doctor.” 

Assured that Gallant was in no danger, and exhausted by her efforts thus far, Emma allowed her eyes to drift closed, and the world went black. 

Some time later, she floated again to the surface of consciousness as she was attended by presumably the doctor. She did not catch his name. She could not seem to force herself to rouse completely nor answer his many questions. 

She shivered when she was uncovered and cried out. She attempted to push the offending person away from her, but was obliged to allow the inspection of her eyes, nose, and mouth, although with many complaints, mostly thought. 

After Mr. Knightley and the fellow with the bag who tortured her so quitted the room, Emma flopped back onto the bed. Unable to gather her thoughts, she attempted again to sleep, but whenever she laid back, she was caught in a fit of coughing. 

Through that miserable night, Biddy came and went with uncountable cups of tea, and refreshed the water basin beside the bed with fresh cool water. She and Mr. Knightley took it in turns to sit beside Emma, laying cloths upon her brow and coaxing liquid into her mouth. 

Emma remained in the state of semi consciousness throughout most of this time. Coughing, drinking, dozing, all night. 

At some point she bolted straight up in a blind panic. “No, do not take him. You cannot. You cannot. Where is he? Bring him to me. You cannot have him.”

Mr. Knightley, who had been resting beside her, sat up, blinking. “What? Who? Emma, are you alright? Here, take some tea.”

He collected the cup from the bedside table and lifted it to her lips. The barest sip entered her mouth before she again sputtered, “Do not take him. You cannot have him. He is mine. He is meant for me.”

Mr. Knightley again tried to get her to drink. “The dog? He is fine Emma.”

When she would not quiet and could not rest for worry, Mr. Knightley sent for the dog. “Very well, Emma. Just this once, the dog may stay in the room. But once you are well, he is going back to the kitchens. However, he is to remain by the hearth. I do not wish the furniture or bedding smelling of dog. But please, love, please rest. You must regain your strength. It frightens me to see my beautiful, strong, healthy Emma, so ill.”

Emma again rested back amidst fits of coughs, but before long she awoke from the most dreadful dream. “You cannot have him. He is mine.”

Drowsily, Mr. Knightley lifted his head. “What?” He laid his hand against her forehead and grimaced. He renewed the cloth with cool water and returned it. 

A tear slid down Emma’s cheek and she desperately gripped his sleeve as he moved away. “I do not care if he does not return my affections. I mean him for myself. You cannot have him, Jane Fairfax.”

Beside her, Emma sensed stillness. She continued muttering to the figures in her head, neither fully awake, nor asleep. 

Later still, Emma cast off the covers, in a full sweat. Why was the room so horridly hot? Gallant trotted toward her and placed his puppy paws upon the side of the bed. Smiling, Emma reached down and gave him several pats. 

“Good boy,” she tried to say, but it emerged in a mere whisper. Judging by the darkness and quiet, but must be quite late. How long had she been abed? When had Gallant been allowed back into the room? Emma had so many questions. It was so dreadful to be unwell.

Emma rang the bell and before long Biddy was at her door. After many exclamations at the hour and how ill Emma was and how good it was that she was thirsty, Emma finally had what she wished. A bath, a clean, dry nightgown, and a new cup of tea. 

After Biddy left, Emma lifted Gallant and cuddled him on the bed. Apparently this was the extent of her energy and mere moments later, she had drifted again into darkness.

Rays of sunlight slanted in through the windows and woke Emma. The small wriggly body beside her assisted. She smiled as she opened her eyes and reached to pet the pup. 

She shifted gingerly into a sitting position, and a groan emerged from beside the bed. It was Mr. Knightley! A chair had been pulled up to the bed and in it he sat, with his arms and head upon the bed, asleep. What? This was very odd and Emma was filled with more questions. 

As he lay there, sleeping, Emma admired her husband’s form and face. Not what one might consider traditionally handsome, he had such an interesting face with its long scar down one side. Regardless, he was beautiful to Emma. She stroked a wayward blond curl from his brow. Gallant, seemingly feeling it his duty as well to pet Mr. Knightley, inched forward and gave him a long lick upon the cheek.

Mr. Knightly spluttered, jolting upright. “What?” He glared at the dog. Then his eyes met those of his wife and he stood and took her face in his hands. “Emma? Emma how are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure. My throat still throbs and my temples ache, but I…”

“You are lucid, Emma, and able to respond. And, I do believe the fever has gone down.” He let out a shuddering sigh. “We were all so worried. Another day and I would have sent for your father and sister.”

“What?” Emma asked in alarm. “You didn’t, did you? Papa would be beside himself with worry.”

“No, not yet. But are you truly feeling more yourself? It has been two days of fever, Emma, that you have been abed. The doctor has been called each day, but was unable to do much of service.” Lovingly, he caressed her lightly, seeming to try to assess for himself her wellness. 

When his eyes came again to Gallant, he frowned. “You dog. You are not to be upon the bed. To the floor, now.” 

Gallant whimpered and cowered beside Emma. She drew in a breath to argue, and began again to cough. 

Mr. Knightley threw his head to the ceiling. Hands on hips, he declared. “Very well, we will not argue this now. Reserve your strength. He will need to be fed and walked, but for now he may stay with you. I will go call for the doctor to be sure. I have never in my life understood your father so well.”

Emma still occasionally coughed and sniffled, but Dr. Merrick agreed that she was on the mend. After another bath, change, and fresh linens, she was again tucked beneath the coverlet. 

George sat beside her with a bowl of soup. He blew on spoonfuls before lifting them to her lips. Emma knew she could do it on her own, but he seemed so relieved at her returning health and to be helping, that she allowed him the service. She smiled at him as she ate and her hand pet Gallant. 

Everything would be all right. Emma was sure of it.


	6. New Acquaintances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've got to deal with all of these feelings!
> 
> Also, light bondage, super consent positive.

Day by day, Emma recovered her strength. She found herself quite content despite the lingering signs of illness. George looked after her by day and Gallant by night. However, she dearly missed her husband's presence during the nighttime hours. 

Emma could sense that something with Mr. Knightley was not quite right. She was not sure what gave her this impression, but she was convinced. More and more, she noticed that he was not quite as openly affectionate as she had become accustomed. Was it the illness? She wondered. Did he think her too weak? Was he concerned still for her health? Could it be the dog? He had mentioned repeatedly how he didn’t want the animal in the room, the house, or even in the first place. 

Disliking the nervous feeling growing within her, she resolved to clarify the matter with him post haste. First and foremost, she assumed some compromise was most likely in order. She spoke with Biddy and it was decided that Gallant would spend the day chiefly at Emma’s side but the nights with Biddy. The stable boy would attend to his training and see to his needs.

That sorted, Emma sought out Mr. Knightley, who was, of course, in the library. She walked into the room, every wall lined with filled bookshelves, large windows at the rear allowing in ample light to shine on the ornate wooden desk where her husband sat. She approached him from behind and put her hand upon one of his shoulders. She leaned her head upon the other and was about to whisper into his ear when he abruptly stood and walked to the table beside the door.

Emma frowned, a bit put out. However, she quickly collected herself. After all, he could not have known what she was about.

Mr. Knightley retrieved a letter from among the stack waiting there and brought it to Emma. Emma frowned at the discordant lack of banter, but was distracted by the missive placed in her hand. Quickly, she scanned the contents. 

Oh dear, thought she, this would not do. The rector and his wife had been to call while Emma had been ill. Knowing she would be remiss to do otherwise, Emma immediately retrieved her writing instruments and sat to pen her response apologizing for not returning the visit sooner, explaining her illness, and inviting the pair to dine with them at Nearfield, that very night if it would suit. 

While Emma was occupied, Mr. Knightley quitted the room without notice. Emma was perturbed on on the verge of chasing him then and there, but felt she best write back first, lest she forget. 

Upon completing the letter, as it was early in the day, Emma had the missive delivered. Very soon, the servant she had sent brought back a reply, in the affirmative. 

Very well, there is much to do if we are to have guests tonight, she mused. While disappointed not to have time to again locate and accost Mr. Knightley, Emma was well aware of her duty as hostess and set to it. Gallant trotting at her heels, she traversed the house, to and fro, making preparations. 

When all was in readiness, she retired and dressed for the evening. 

She did not see Mr. Knightley again, even though she had tried to spot him throughout the day, until the arrival of their guests that evening. She commented on it to the cook while ordering the evening meal and had a servant sent to at the very least inform him of their evening engagement. 

They welcomed them heartily and before Emma knew it, it was time to walk into the dining room. While snugger than Emma would have liked, the room was nicely decorated in pale greens with rich, dark furnishings. Dinner went off without a hitch and the meal was pleasantly passed with innocuous conversation regarding the excellence of the meal, especially the boiled potatoes, the weather, and plans for Sunday’s upcoming sermon. 

After the meal, the ladies retreated into the drawing room. Emma and Mrs. Jones seated themselves in the plush, overstuffed armchairs beside the fire, whose warm glow encompassed the room. 

“Thank you kindly for your invitation, dear. I was so distressed to hear that you had been unwell and unable to receive us when we called. I should have brought over some chicken soup had I known prior.”

“Not at all. I am very much recovered and was well looked after for the duration.”

“Yes, you do seem to be in much higher spirits than when I saw you last Sunday after the service.” She took a sip of her tea. “I wonder, have you had the chance to explore the country much during your visit? It seems you will be here such a short time. A month is hardly a chance to get to know the place at all. Have you yet met the Mortimers? Our parish is small and fluctuating as people often travel here for the air and sea. They are the one family with whom we most often and consistently associate. Their home is not far from here, Matasol Manor, you may have seen it in your explorations. It is not far from the beachfront you told us you explored.”

“Hmm, no. I cannot say that I did notice their house. I was much preoccupied by the sea, you see.”

“Oh, well, no matter. I do believe they have returned. They had traveled to London. They do that every so often. It can be hard to know when they are back in residence. They don’t like to make a fuss, I’ve no doubt. But I do believe the house has been opened up.”

“How interesting. I do so love to make new acquaintances. I have not had much of an opportunity, save yourself and your husband, of late.” 

“Oh, delightful. I am so glad to hear you say that, to be sure. I was considering hosting a small dinner party at the rectory in not too many days. Perhaps you and Mr. Knightley would consent to join us. I shall invite the Mortimers as well. What a fine evening we shall have! Perhaps even a game of whist?”

As Mrs. Jones prattled on about her great excitement at the prospect of gathering a party of so many at her humble home, Emma’s mind drifted.

No other families of consequence? Well then, they definitely should have been given pride of place in the front pew of the church. She resolved to request as much and was just about to do so when the gentlemen entered.

They did not remain long. Mr. Jones soon made their excuses, gave many thanks, and assured Emma that she was welcome to the front pew, if she were able to arrive at the church before it was occupied.

Not at all satisfied with that answer, Emma pasted on a smile as she bid them farewell. 

As the door shut, she turned, intending to address her malcontent with her husband, only to find he was no longer beside her. 

Enough was enough. What was the man playing at? In search of him, she went. 

He was not to be found in the drawing room, dining room, library, or her bedroom. Emma found herself increasingly agitated. 

Finally, she recalled which room he had taken for himself and barged in to find him in the process of undressing with the assistance of his valet. 

“Wife?”

“Husband.” Emma took a seat in the chair nearest the door and engaged in a battle of eye contact.

She won. Mr. Knightley looked away and quietly dismissed the servant. Sighing, he undid his own cravat and threw it, crumpled, onto the chair beside him. 

“Is there something you need, Emma?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she accused, her emotions catching up with her and a tremor entering her voice. 

Mr. Knightley glanced at her and scrubbed a hand over his face. He flopped into the chair and began tugging off his boots. When they wouldn’t give, he huffed in exasperation. He threw himself forward, head into his hands and breathed deeply. 

“Yes, Emma.”

“Why?” she quavered. “Why would you do such a thing? Are you worried for my health and well-being? I assure you I am better. I am no weakling. You needn't take such care. I am hail. I am…” She faltered as her husband failed to respond. “Is that not it? Do you… Are you… Unable to order her thoughts, her words caught in her throat, and before she could stop them, tears sprang forth and tumbled down her cheeks. 

Mr. Knightley looked up, and upon seeing her tears, rushed over. Kneeling before her, he brushed the dampness from her face with his thumbs. “No, Emma. I…” Casting his heads heavenwards, he breathed out roughly. 

Standing, he shoved his hands into his pockets and paced. Finally he turned round to face her once more, appearing resolved. “Emma, when you were with fever, I… I had never been more scared in my life. I could not bear to lose you.”

Emma made to stand. “I have told you. I am fine. You need not…”

He held out a hand and stopped her. “Hear me out. When you were with fever, you spoke in your sleep. You called out repeatedly. First for your dog. And then…”

Emma peered at him in utter confusion. What did he speak of? She spoke of her dog in her dreams? She recalled none of this.

Mr. Knightley swallowed audibly and continued. “Then, you pleaded with Jane Fairfax not to take Mr. Churchill from you. I had thought that with time the infatuation would lessen and you would love me. You hadn’t said as much, but I believed that you were coming to. I… I… I struggle with the fact that you have not. But I…”

Suddenly, everything fell into place within Emma’s mind. She recalled dreaming vividly and the intense crushing pain within her chest during those dreams. But not about Gallant. Or Frank Churchill. 

Pursing her lips, she rushed towards her husband. “No!” she exclaimed, hitting him upon the chest.

Shocked, George blinked at her, and she noticed the tears in his own eyes. “No?”

“No,” she said again, softer, as she wiped away his own tears with her hands. “No. Do you recall my exact words? I do not remember speaking them.”

“Well… I… That is…”

“No matter.” Drawing upon his hand, she again guided him to his seat. She assumed pacing as she wrung her hands. “I do recall my dreams, but they were nothing as you have supposed.”

“I had not realized I had not said it until now. How difficult it is to express one’s most intimate feelings and desires. No, you remain where you are. I will get to it.” She admonished him as he seemed ready to stand and argue. 

“I never in my life dreamed about Frank Churchill. Not before he came to Highbury. Not once he finally arrived. Not when he became engaged to Jane Fairfax. And most definitely, assuredly, not now that I am wedded to you, husband.”

It was Emma’s turn to swallow. She turned to face him as another tear fell. “How dare you accuse me of anything less than loving you! I remember the dreams I had. Too ill to wake, I recall each moment of the torment of them. Nearly unable to breathe for the unbearable ache they caused in my heart.” Tears were now streaming down her face, unchecked. “That night I dreamt of? Was the night of the dinner party. When Jane Fairfax had been sent the pianoforte. Mrs. Weston intimated to me that she had made a match between you and Jane. That you were most considerate of her and that your affections were most assuredly attached to her. In my dream, they truly were, and I was forced to watch, from the side, as you and she were engaged and married. And I couldn’t…” Emma dissolved into sobs as she sank to the floor. 

Before she hit the ground, she found herself scooped into the strong arms of her husband and settled into his lap upon the chair. 

“I love you, you half wit!” she cried into his chest as she hit it halfheartedly with her fist. 

She felt his chin rest atop her head and his hand as he stroked her hair and back. “Emma.” She heard the smile in his voice and cried harder. “Shh, Emma, love.”

When she still couldn’t cease her bawling, George leaned away. Tucking a finger beneath her chin, he urged her face upwards. She acquiesced, and her tearful eyes met his equally damp ones. 

“Thank you, dearest. Emma, you are my heart. I’m sorry your dream pained you so. Know that I have never had feelings beyond those of friendship for Miss Fairfax.”

Emma drew in a small hiccuping breath as George stroked her face and soothed her.

“Thank you, dear heart. Thank you for telling me of it. And of your feelings. My heart is contented to hear, at last, how you feel. For I feel the same for you. So deeply. So much that it is as if a piece of my heart resides within you and walks about outside of my body. Oh, Emma.”

With that, his lips came to hers in a hesitant, testing, press. She tasted the mingled salt of their tears as she pressed her body into his and deepened the embrace. Emma clung to the lapels of George’s vest as she leaned against him, fusing her mouth to his. She poured every feeling, every emotion, every need she had had over the course of their relationship into this kiss. 

Minutes passed this way as they reveled in each other’s arms. They soothed with each caress, connected on mutual sighs, and kindled the flames of their devotion.

As Emma kissed, and sucked, and licked at George’s mouth, she grew increasingly aware of the burning desire building within her. She arched her back and rocked her bottom into his lap and was gratified to feel the equal press of his arousal. 

She pulled back, breathing hard, and pressed her forehead to his. She quickly took stock. They could move to the bed, or stay in the chair, or… Suddenly, Emma realized the sheer amount of clothing between them. Yes, George had removed his jacket and cravat, but was otherwise still fully dressed, as was she. 

Inspiration struck her, and she climbed from his lap. He groaned and tried to pull her back, but she resisted with a evil grin. 

“This night, I shall assist you, dear husband. It is beyond time you are undressed for the evening.”

Standing before him, Emma reached for his boot. She tugged ineffectually. 

“Are you sure you wish to do this? I can call Jacobs back and have him finish…”

“No, I shall do it.”

Determinedly, Emma moved her hands to acquire a firmer grip on the heel of the boot. George grasped the arms of the chair, and this time, when she pulled, the boot gave. 

Reaching out a hand, she pulled him up. Bidding him to keep still, Emma smiled. She petted the yellow silk brocade of his vest. With sure fingers, she slowly released each button. She relished the taught tug and subsequent release of each. When finally the garment fell open, Emma pushed her hands inside. She ran them up his chest and over his shoulders over his shirt, casting the clothing to the floor, unheeded. 

Emma could feel the tension in George’s body as he struggled to abide by her wish to keep still. She heard the harsh exhale of his breath as her fingers touched him. 

Emma smiled as she reached for his starched white shirt. Beginning at the top, she popped each button from its bindings. With each inch of skin she revealed, she leaned in and placed a soft kiss. She hummed as she felt his pulse under her lips as she moved from his neck downward.

Impeded at last in her downward journey by his trousers, Emma paused and pulled back. The dampness between her legs was growing and she desired nothing more than to consume her husband whole. 

Instead, she bit her lip and reached for the fall. Slower than before, she eased out each button before kneeling in a rush and pulling the trousers down with her. She reveled in George's shocked exhale.

“God, Emma.” He murmured as he stepped from the garment. 

She did not pause. With aching slowness, she inched his stockings down his legs and off his feet, providing the same attentions to his inner thighs and calves as she had his chest. Pressing her mouth to him, lower and lower. 

When finally the task was complete and Emma again stood, both of their breathing was ragged. One item remaining, she tugged his shirt up and over his head. At last, he stood before her, in full naked glory, member proud and erect, ready. 

Emma’s mouth watered, and she bit her lip.

Apparently able to withstand it no longer, George closed the distance between them and crashed his mouth into hers. It would seem that she was not the only one desirous of devouring. 

Pins cascaded from her hair as George ran his fingers through it. Coming to rest on either side of her head, his hands drew her nearer still. They held her in place, captivated, so that he could plunder her mouth at will. 

Sliding downwards, his hands met fabric, and he growled. Emma had never before heard such a sound from him. Her body reacted to it immediately, tingling and clenching. 

His fingers fumbled at the row of small buttons at her back. Unable to undo a single one, he instead grasped both sides and pulled sharply. White, pearl buttons went flying and skittered across the floor. 

Emma gasped, warmth rushing her belly and between her thighs. 

“I’ll buy you another,” George rasped as he pulled the offending garment up over her head, obviously misunderstanding her. 

Emma was unable to muster much in the way of annoyance, too enthralled was she by her husband, whose intense desire mirrored and amplified her own. She did however have the wherewithal to assist him in unlacing her short corset. Making quick work of it, together they relieved her of both it and her chemise. 

George again lifted her and spirited her to the bed. Depositing her upon it, he joined her. Caressing her from ribcage to knee, he drew her leg upwards. Swiftly, he pulled down her stocking and slipper along with it before repeating the process on the other side. 

Finally naked, in each other’s arms, they released twin sighs of relief. Slowing the tempo of their lovemaking measurably, George settled himself between her legs. He drew up her arm and placed light, sucking kisses on her fingers, her palm, her wrist, and up her arm. He spent an indecent amount of time sampling every inch of her shoulder, neck, and jaw. 

Emma strained and shifted her hips against him, but could gain no friction. She whimpered in despair. 

“See love. See what you do to me? Is it not the best kind of torture? I shall now repay you for the way you made me feel as you stripped me bare and caressed me with your teasing mouth.”

With that, he proceeded implacably to the other side, the other hand, the other arm. Emma moaned beneath him, stretching in vain. She did manage to brush her nipples against his chest, but did not achieve anything like the friction she so desired. 

“Be still, Emma,” George admonished. “Did you not ask the same of me? Now it is my turn.”

But Emma was unable to remain unmoving. She decided that she had waited quite long enough, thank you very much. She ran her own hands along the muscles of his back, down to his firm buttocks. She squeezed, before reaching around to the front. 

Only to her astonishment, George levered himself off of her and clear off the bed entirely. Emma gasped and leaned up on her elbows. She frowned as he retrieved his abandoned cravat from the chair. 

“Now, Emma. Do not rush this. If you cannot keep yourself still…” He twisted the silk between his hands. “I have another idea how it might be accomplished. Do you trust me?”

Emma eyed him suspiciously, but was more than a little intrigued by his actions. Swallowing, she nodded.

He stalked towards the bed. Grabbed her hands in his and pulled them above her head, kissing her deeply. So deep and luxurious was the feel of his lips, his tongue, his teeth against her mouth, that she hardly noticed what his hands were doing. That is, until he pulled away and left her lips throbbing and she tried to follow, only to find that she was softly bound in silk to the headboard.

George grinned roguishly down at her. “If you ask me, I will release you. Otherwise, while you permit me this liberty, I shall take my time to savor you. Hmm? Are we agreed?”

Biting her kiss-swollen lips, Emma pressed her thighs together. She was surprised to discover how even this turn of events aroused her further. She met his eyes and nodded.

George’s large hands made slow passes down her arms and ribs, across her stomach, and down her legs. He lifted a foot to his mouth and kissed the arch, the ankle, and up and up and up until within reach of the juncture of her thighs. 

Emma was panting when he returned and provided the same treatment to the other leg.

When she was sure she would scream if he did not touch her immediately, finally did he press the pad of his thumb into her wet center. 

He hummed in pleasure against the pulsing point of Emma’s pleasure and she exploded in an uncontrolled, writhing yell. 

“Well then,” said he, as he kissed his way back up her body, pausing to provide extra attention to the peak of each breast. “I suppose we should sleep now, hmm?”

“What?” exploded Emma. “No. I need you. Now.”

“What Emma?”

“You! Inside me. This instant.”

“Well... if you insist.”

He took her mouth with his as he slowly, achingly, pushed himself inside her, inch by glorious inch. 

In the haze of post euphoric glow, Emma drifted upon clouds of pleasure as George languidly advanced and withdrew. She felt every slide and stretch and press. Unable to embrace him, she met his hips in fluid motions.

George buried his face into her neck and breathed harshly as he maintained his measured cadence. Moments, or hours, or decades--what was time when one possessed such decadence--later, Emma tumbled over the precipice into rapture and felt her husband tremble around her, experiencing the same. 

Untying her, he drew her tightly against his chest and cradled her against him. Emma settled in, enjoying the secure comfort she found in his arms, and fell asleep.


	7. A Small Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma has dinner at the rectory and meets some new neighbors.

This tiff with her husband resolved, Emma settled herself in the leather armchair before the writing desk in the drawing room, fully prepared to engage in the extensive writing of letters the next morning. Missives would need to be sent off to her father, sister, Mrs. Weston, Harriet, and even Miss Bates lest anyone worry for not having heard from her of late. 

Gallant began the endeavor at her side, but periodically paced the floor, pounced upon invisible villains, and whined at her feet. 

Emma sighed, “I don’t particularly wish to be occupied the entire morning with this either, but there is nothing for it. Be a kind thing and wait patiently while I finish, won’t you sweetness?” The dog obliged and laid across her feet. She stretched out her fingers, which were beginning to ache, rolled her wrists, and resumed writing, enjoying the feel of her new foot warmer. 

Just as she signed the final letter with a flourish and secured it in its envelope, a note for her arrived by footman. It was from the rector’s wife, Mrs. Jones. It appeared the pleasure of their presence was requested that very evening for a small dinner party if they would be so obliging as to attend. 

Emma dearly wanted an evening alone with her husband, but couldn’t, in good manners, turn her down. Best not to imply that she desired time alone with her husband. That might not be in keeping with the sensibilities of a man of God’s wife. Not if she wished to continue the acquaintance at any rate. 

Mr. Knightley had been deep in research when Emma had dug him out of the library to dress. He had not been pleased to hear that this invitation had been accepted. He too had been thinking their evening would be spent alone, together, as a couple. Not only that but now, with little time to prepare, he was rushed to put in an appearance. 

Emma bristled at his suggestion that she simply beg off, claiming to be indisposed. Eve’s curse or something the like. She had left the room and refused to discuss it further. 

Now, they were on their way and he may as well accept it. Tempers sufficiently cooled, Emma put on a brave face. As the carriage trundled along, Emma smiled winningly, placing a hand upon his thigh and assured Mr. Knightley the evening would not be too terrible, even perhaps enjoyable, she dared hope. 

But apparently a smile in return was too much to hope for. It was evident that he was intent on holding on to his less that pleasant mood. Perhaps she should have sent off that her husband was of delicate temper and presently he was the one indisposed and must be attended. Emma bit her cheek and back a laugh at the thought of how such a claim would have been received and what Mr. Knightley might have said if asked about it by the couple. She had a pleasant time imagining this conversation taking place, much to Mr. Knightley’s dismay, in company. 

The devil could apparently sense her thoughts and broke in. He grumbled that they could have walked, it was not far, eyebrows pinched together. 

“And how unusual that would seem. You cannot expect to walk miles in the dewy grass, wife in tow, on the way to a dinner party. You sent a carriage for Jane Fairfax before, as a courtesy, I seem to recall. Why should she merit more consideration than myself?”

Mr. Knightley, it seemed, was in no mood to reply. He pursed his lips.

He might be frustrated at the turn their evening had taken, but Emma was frustrated too, for what else could she have done but accept. They may as well put on a pleasant countenance if nothing could be changed. 

But no, only she thought that way. 

Mr. Knightley felt free to wear and air his grumpiness for the duration of the carriage ride. 

Well, thought Emma, she was finished engaging. He could carp and complain to himself. She stared out the window and noticed the home they were approaching.

Modest in size and appointment. Much like other rectories she’d seen, nondescript with adjoining gardens, although, apparently the Jones’s had a penchant for white roses. Quite the profusion extended along all sides of the house.

When they entered the house, they were met at the door by the rector and his wife. Immediately guided into a slightly plain, everything done up in creams and browns, but obviously lovingly furnished drawing room, they were introduced to a rather striking couple. 

Emma was quick to take account of a very beautiful woman, around 40, perhaps, who stood proud in a deep red gown with a necklace which trailed into her decolletage. Dark hair, still without a touch of gray, and a striking face with only a hint of wrinkles about the eyes. Emma took in every detail from her hairstyle to the slippers peeking out from below her gown. It certainly seemed nothing had been grudged for her appearance. Clearly, she could afford quite the clever ladies maid and seamstress. Overall, Emma approved of her taste, except that her bodice rode quite lower than she’d seen before, or quite approved of. 

“Yes, how do you do? Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Mortimer,” Emma joined the conversation.

She turned her perusal to the other member of the couple as his wife gave the usual, expected pleasantries. This man was large, much bigger than she was accustomed to in the men of her circle, like a brick house. Long arms and legs, barrel chest, thick neck, and wide face frowning below his handlebar mustache.

Undeterred, Emma put on her most disarming smile and set herself to win him over. She had never yet met a man she could not cajole into pleasantness. 

She tried to engage him in conversation.

“I’ve heard you live nearby. This is a beautiful place to have a home.” She batted her eyelashes at him, with a small smile upon her lips.

His eyebrows drew together.

“The change in residence must be refreshing. The sea air is so good for one’s health and countenance.” Emma increased her smile until her cheeks hurt. Absentmindedly, she touched the pendant at her bosom, considering her next method of attack. 

He grunted and turned away.

Emma blinked. Well alright then. She turned to share a look with Mr. Knightley, only to find that he was not beside her. Somehow, while she had been engaged with Mr. Mortimer, he had ended up across the room, by the fire, with his wife. The woman had her hand upon his arm, was smiling coquettishly up at him, seemed to be arching her back to thrust her breasts closer with each breath. Emma was not pleased. She scoffed to herself, internal tirade in full swing

She approached her husband, who was facing away from her, and took his other arm, drawing him back. “Husband, is it not pleasant to make new acquaintances?”

Mr. Knightley blinked at her, “Ah, Emma. Just the person. Mrs. Mortimer was just telling me they arrived in town rather earlier than the Jones’s noticed. It seems it is their habit to keep to themselves the first few weeks here to avoid unnecessary engagements.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. 

Emma ignored the bait. Instead, she focused on Mrs. Mortimer and complimented her on her fine taste.

“Yes, aren’t you a sweet thing. I demand that my seamstress keep abreast of all the latest fashions. I ensure that she receives the most current styles and trends on plates straight from Paris. She is from France originally as well. Nothing else would do. I cannot imagine ever employing a woman without such recommendations. It would be positively pedestrian.” She smiled over Emma and her subtly, but expertly, adorned black silk gown. 

They conversed politely for what was probably not over a quarter of an hour, but what felt like ages to Emma. After an eternity trying to smile and not kill the woman across from her with her eyes, they entered for dinner. 

Emma was seated across from Mr. Knightley. Mrs. Mortimer was beside him, flirting. How brazen and mean her art, thought Emma, that I can see it from here. Whatever does she mean by it?

Mr. Mortimer was beside her, still taciturn. Not only did he refuse to converse, but Emma got the sense that he was actively angry. If the drawing room small talk had been difficult, the dinner was pure torture. Emma spent most of it glaring at Mr. Knightley and trying to convey with her eyes that he should put off the lady beside him. She could have sworn that the dropped fork and subsequent slow retrieval was a contrivance to stroke his leg, even if she couldn’t see beneath the table. Mr. Knightley, however, didn’t react, and didn’t get the hint. All the while, she tried her best to maintain appearances and keep up with the conversation of the rectors. 

At the end, as the ladies broke away to the drawing room, Emma sent Mr. Knightley one last pleading look. This time he met her eyes and his brows drew downward. 

As they exited, Emma excused herself to the necessary. She could not take a moment more of that woman’s odious company for the moment. But no sooner did she find herself alone in the hall than Mr. Knightley joined her. 

“Emma,” Mr. Knightley put a hand to her elbow and attempted to steer her away from the occupied rooms. “You insisted we come here tonight and you aren’t even making the barest attempt at civility.”

Emma pulled from his grasp with a huff. “Me! Me being uncivil!”

They commenced to whisper ardently over the actions of certain guests for a bit before he finally managed to direct her into the study so they wouldn't be overheard. 

Emma was angry and something else. Something climbing its way through her and squeezing her chest. According to Mr. Knightley, Mrs. Mortimer was simply being polite and making conversation. Emma seethed and argued through gritted teeth. They went back and forth. 

Finally, rubbing his hand over his face, Mr. Knightley turned away. “It comes down to trust, Emma. I would never do anything untoward or anything to hurt you. You know that. I am and will be faithful. I don’t know what to do if you don’t trust that.”

“I do trust you. I just don’t trust her. I don’t like her hands upon you. Her eyes upon you. And don’t you go acting like it was nothing.” Angry, Emma clenched her fists and shoved against his chest. 

He was literally and figuratively immovable. This only served to increase her ire. So, she did it again. 

This time, he caught her hands. His face set, he stepped her back. Her bottom hit the desk. He pinned her hands to it. They were both breathing hard. 

Emma was suddenly very aware of her body and his. She was aware of each intake of breath, of the press of her breasts against the bodice, of her nipples begging for touch, of her hips, pressed forward, of his hardening length. She bit her lip and groaned. 

He captured her mouth and leaned into her, grinding. He released her hands. She pressed them to his chest, felt his pounding heart, and snaked them up and around his neck to pull him closer.

“Not here, Emma,” he breathed, trying to pull away.

“Here,” she replied, tightening her arms and locking her lips to his. 

He shook his head and extricated himself, taking a step back.

Emma sat upon the desk and drew up her skirt, exposing her most intimate places. 

He swallowed, and she watched his Adam’s apple moving. She read the indecision on his face. 

She leaned forward, for he had not moved far, put her hand into the waistband of his trousers and drew him closer. Taking his hand, she placed it precisely where she desired it between her legs so that he could feel her warmth, her wet, her desire. She was not ashamed. Not with him. She needed him, and now he knew it. 

One hand still holding on to his pants, she ran the other hand down along his shaft, rubbing and pressing it through the fabric. She unbuttoned him. She pulled him out. 

All the while, George’s thumb circled the sensitive bud of nerves at her apex. 

Emma fused her mouth to his as she ran his tip through her folds, caressing, coating him, preparing him, before notching him at her entrance. Hooking her legs around his hips, she impaled herself and moaned, sucking his tongue between her lips. 

Finally giving in, George took up a more active role in their tryst. Carefully balancing her, he thrust deeply. Again and again. He kissed down her neck and sucked at the hollow. His free arm caressed her backside before making its way up and around. He stroked his thumb beneath her breast, teasing. He pinched her nipple through the fabric and Emma held back a moan. Again and again he teased, all the while thrusting, caressing, pinching, and rubbing. 

Emma writhed with abandon upon the desk. Seeking out her ultimate pleasure. Briefly, she froze, thinking she heard the click of the door, but she looked and there was nothing. And feeling her husband's hands upon her and member within her, her attention was recaptured and she again felt herself climbing the mountain. 

She panted and shook as she reached its peak, pulling George down along with her. Breathing each other’s air, they allowed their heartbeats to slow. George’s lips met hers in sweet kisses before he pulled out and away. 

Putting each other to rights, they debated the merits of returning to the party or claiming the lingering effects of her illness as a reason to abscond for home. 

Politeness won, but now Emma knew she could endure the remainder of her evening with fresh memories to accompany her. 

Pink cheeked and slightly rumpled, Emma reentered the drawing room. The ladies were taking tea beside the fire and she joined them. Taking her place at the settee, Emma took her time arranging her skirts and settling herself before she was able to look up and meet the eyes of her companions.

“Mrs. Knightley, are you quite alright?” Mrs. Jones asked, deviating from the conversation she had been having about winter curtains. “It is only that you seem a bit flushed.”

Emma, who had been taking a sip of her tea, began to hack.

“Oh no! Should we call for the doctor? I do hope we didn’t call you from home too soon. What if you relapse?” Mrs. Jones wrung her hands and stood, seeming to debate whether to go to the door and fetch her husband. 

“No, no!” Emma finally coughed out. “It is only a bit warm here and it seems as if I took the tea down wrong. I will be fine, I assure you.” She continued trying to clear her throat in a somewhat more delicate manner. “I do apologize.” She finally managed to gain control and went on, “I am so sorry to worry you. I inhaled to answer you and, you know…”

Mrs. Jones let out a large sigh of relief and sank back onto her armchair. “Oh thank goodness! I could not have lived with myself if you were to become ill again. I don’t know what I would have done.” She drank from the cup the maid handed her, gratefully.

Emma caught Mrs. Mortimer watching her over the rim of her tea cup. But when their eyes met, she smiled and demurred. 

Emma steeled herself. She should make more of an effort, she told herself, to befriend this woman. She had done nothing untoward, truely, and Emma dearly loved having acquaintances with which to spend her free time. 

“Mrs. Mortimer, is your seamstress local?”

The woman nodded her assent. 

“Lovely! It has simply been ages since I’ve been shopping, it seems. I’ve yet to visit the local haberdashery. And I so longed for a gown to return home with. Perhaps as a souvenir.”

“What a lovely way to remember your time here!” declared Mrs. Jones. “What a positively lovely idea! Shall we make an outing of it? The three of us?”

Polite smiles and nods were all she needed to begin thinking of times and dates that would be amenable.

“What kind husbands have we! So generous and amiable. I’m sure they won’t mind a bit of shopping at all.” Mrs. Jones was positively exuberant at the prospect.

“Yes,” replied Emma, “Mr. Knightley indeed leaves nothing wanting.” A twinkle in her eye, she hid her smile behind her fan. Truly it was too warm in here.

Presently, they were rejoined by the men and talk of shopping ceased. It was time for goodbyes, and Emma was more than ready for an evening alone with her husband. 


	8. A Shopping Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mostly fluffy chapter. We meet some new people, go some new places, and spend some time with the lovely couple :)

The next morning, Emma and George were happily curled together in bed. Emma awoke before him and watched the room lighten as the sun rose. She stroked the arm thrown across her ribs and smiled to herself. 

She enjoyed the warmth beside her. Reveled in his deep breaths. She felt lovely and languid and lazy. There was nowhere else on the Earth and no one with whom she would rather be. This, she thought, was utter perfection.

She sensed the change in his breathing even before his eyelids parted. The arm around her tensed and pulled her flush against him, her back to his front. He fairly purred. 

She felt other parts of him stirring as well, pressed against her backside. She arched her back and allowed herself to feel him more fully. 

He groaned and his teeth lightly grazed her shoulder. His hand came up to play with her nipple. 

Emma could feel herself growing wetter by the moment.

Suddenly, two paws appeared on the side of the bed and rather loud yapping ensued. 

Emma tried to shoo Gallant, but the pup seemed to believe this was some sort of game and jumped at every wave of her hand, barking more excitedly. 

George, grumbling insensibly, tried to command the dog down, to no avail. He threw a pillow, commanding, “Back, you curr.” Gallant followed the pillow off the bed

Emma gasped, “George!” and elbowed him lightly in the side. 

“What else should we call a mongrel who would so usurp his master? I say be gone beast! Leave us in peace.”

Gallant now gnawed at the pillow from the floor, eyeing them suspiciously. 

“Can you not get him to turn around or something? And where is Biddy? I thought she took him in the mornings?”

“She does! But you, slugabed, have slept in. Judging by the amount of light in the room, Biddy has come and gone. She knows I like Gallant returned after his morning jaunt.”

George half growled into her shoulder and Gallant again began barking. 

“I do not think he likes that,” supplied Emma, helpfully. 

Muttering about ill mannered beasts in need of training, George threw off the covers, stomped in his full, erect glory to the door and cast the dog into the hall.

He stalked back to the bed, he climbed on and he pressed her back into the mattress and his hips into hers and he leaned in for a kiss. 

A long, whining howl came from just outside. Followed by another. And another. 

Emma giggled. 

George rolled off and covered his eyes. 

“Be a dear, and take him for a second walk, would you? I think you could both use the exercise.” Placing a kiss on his chest, just above his heart, Emma flounced from the bed and off to prepare for her day.

When she finished dressing, Emma peaked into the room, no Gallant or George. She looked out the window. Sure enough, there they were, walking along, Gallant nipping at George’s heels. 

She saw them stop, Mr. Knightley, a hand on his hip, shaking a finger at Gallant, clearly speaking sternly. She watched as they walked towards the stable. 

Emma smiled to herself. Her boys would get along yet. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had not yet broken her fast. Still smiling, she made her way down the stairs and into the dining room. 

No sooner had she filled her plate at the sideboard and taken her seat, than Mr. Knightley entered the room. While he did smile at her across the room as he made his own plate, it didn’t seem to entirely reach his eyes.

“Whatever is the matter, dear husband? You seem out of spirits.”

“You know what is the matter, Emma.”

“Hmm? Gallant is not that bad. I am sure walking him could not have been so onerous.”

“Your dog does need to be properly trained if he is to be a permanent companion. I spoke with the stablemaster and he has a boy who will take him in hand. It is all settled.”

“Well then. I cannot think why you should be in such a foul temper.”

“I am not in a foul temper.”

“Then pouting.”

“A man does not pout. Nor does he sulk if that is what you are thinking to suggest next.”

“Oh very well then. What are you doing? The frown creasing your brows does not indicate merriness.”

He sighed heavily. “I am merely frustrated at the loss of what we began this morning. I shall recover.”

He put on a smile.

Emma dabbed at her face with the cream linen napkin. “Oh, is that all. I’m sure we could find a place to take care of that small problem. Or should I say, large one?”

Mr. Knightley coughed on the sip of tea he had just taken and stared at her.

“We could make our way back to our bedroom,” she continued and tapped at her lip, as if in thought. “Or, as we demonstrated only yesterday, there are many other possibilities. I’m sure we could find a nook or corner to suit.”

Mr. Knightley’s eyes tried to devour her from across the table and she was sure that he would accept her offer, when suddenly the doors opened and a footman entered.

Wordlessly, he approached Mr. Knightley and proffered a silver tray. Upon it were two letters. 

Taking one, Mr. Knightley handed the other across the table to Emma. “From the Jones’s, it would seem. I pray that it is not another engagement invitation.”

Emma quickly read through her missive. 

“My dearest Mrs. Knightley,

My husband is writing to yours. He would like assistance with some aspect of farming or other. It would seem they discussed it in depth last night. Your husband is so very helpful and obliging. My Mr. Jones simply cannot seem to make heads or tails of the matter now that it is day and he is trying to do it on his own. I know that your charming husband will be so amiable as to assist him. 

This brings me to my purpose in writing you. As the gentlemen will be occupied, it is my opinion that today is nothing short of perfect for our shopping expedition. I know how dearly you wished to make a trip to the village and explore. 

Not to worry, I have already invited Mrs. Mortimer. Unless you have any objections, we shall plan our adventure for midmorning. Do you think your husband would be so kind as to allow you the use of your carriage for the two of us? Mrs. Mortimer will meet us there, but I am along your path. 

Looking forward to seeing you shortly,

Yours,

Mrs. Jones”

“Well,” breathed Emma, reaching the end. “It does seem as if the Jones’s have plans for us today.”

Mr. Knightley neatly folded and returned his own letter to its envelope. “It does seem so. What do you say, Emma? Shall we forsake them for a tryst?”

Emma blushed. “How unlike you Mr. Knightley. I would have thought you to view it as your duty to offer assistance to a kind gentleman of your acquaintance, a man of God no less, when he has asked you for it and it is in your power.”

“Yes, you are quite right. I was but teasing. Although, truth be told, I was quite intrigued at your earlier suggestion. Do not think I will soon forget it. I may hold you to it later.” 

Emma’s blush crept down her neck and across her chest. She fervently hoped he would hold her to it. 

He rose from his chair and walked around the table to place a kiss upon her forehead. 

“I shall gather some books before walking over. I do not know how long we will be. Will you be sufficiently occupied? Entertained? Have you need of anything before I go?” 

“No, no. I am quite well. I have been invited on a shopping excursion and asked to provide the carriage. I will see you this evening, shall I?”

“Very well. All is settled. Enjoy your day, love.”

“You as well!” Emma called after him as he exited the room. Alone once more, she finished her meal and prepared for the outing.

The village center was quaint and comparable in size to Highbury. It boasted but a single Inn, which appeared clean and tidy, several shops, among them the much anticipated haberdashery. 

People bustled to and fro, attending to their daily business. Emma could have fancied herself at home, but for the humid press of the salty air and the ever present scent of fish that lingered on the breeze. 

The exterior of their desired store was unremarkable and matched the surrounding stone buildings. A profusion of ivy crept its way into cracks and crevices of every building. There was a rather large window set into the side of the building, however, through which she could glimpse the wares. 

Emma, who had only moderate hopes for the venture, felt her first flare of excitement at the many fine hats on display. She could do with a new bonnet. Perhaps in rose or lavender. 

Since retrieving Mrs. Jones, the lady had done naught but talk. Emma was not even required to provide the minimum input, so she fairly stopped listening. Mostly, it was remarks on the fine furnishings of the carriage, Mr. Knightley’s fine character and amiability, the weather, and such. Nothing Emma did not already know. And to be honest, the chatter had not ceased for a moment, even as they entered the shop.

Emma was immediately struck by both the similarities and differences to the haberdashery at home. This one too held a wide variety of fabrics, perhaps even more than she was accustomed to, but these were sorted first by textile type and then by color. Additionally, the ribbons were arranged alongside the fabrics in matching tones. 

The walls and furnishings of this establishment were all in whites and creams. Emma could see where Mrs. Jones got her style influence. But here, rather than seeming plain, it acted to accentuate the richness of the wares. 

“Oh, it seems that Mrs. Mortimer has not yet arrived. I do so hope she will come soon. I know you were hoping she might direct you to her seamstress. I am not sure who she uses. To be sure, Mrs. Mortimer does have a fine and distinguished style. Do you not think?”

Emma opened her mouth to answer, but Mrs. Jones continued. “I was thinking that she might advise me as to new curtain ties. I think they would be just the thing to freshen up the style at the rectory. What do you think of this lovely tan tassel?”

Again, Emma began a response. 

“Oh look! There comes Mrs. Mortimer now!” Mrs. Jones proclaimed, staring out the window. “To be sure, I do not know what we would do without her.” 

Emma sighed and shook her head slightly. She walked over to the displayed bonnets and ran her fingers along a particularly cunning specimen.

“Oh no, dear,” a sultry voice intoned at Emma’s shoulder. “That will not do for you at all. It will cause your face to appear too long and washed of color. That I cannot recommend.”

Emma turned. Mrs. Mortimer. Taking in a deep breath, Emma pasted on a smile. She would bring this woman to be her friend yet. 

“Have you much experience in bonnets, Mrs. Mortimer?”

“Yes, dear,” she replied simply, a smile playing across her lips. Taking a few steps away, she fingered the ribbons of other hats, and seemed to dismiss Emma. 

Emma frowned around and saw Mrs. Jones deep in a conversation with a sales clerk. No one had ever told her that she would look less than fetching in any form of attire or accessory. 

She lifted the hat and walked over to the stand mirror. She arranged it on her head, tugging curls into place. She thought it fine. But she gazed and tried to find any issues. She debated with herself and was unexpectedly unsure about the item. 

A quiet voice startled Emma; she jumped slightly. 

“I am sorry.” A young, very pretty girl stood beside Emma, who had not noticed her approach. She spoke to the floor in a near whisper. “I did not mean to startle you. It is only that I thought perhaps you needed an opinion on your bonnet. I find it quite lovely on you.”

Emma smiled at the woman, who looked to be a few years younger than herself. “How kind of you to say. I don’t believe we have met. I am Mrs. Knighltey. And you are?”

“Oh no. Was that terribly rude of me to approach without a proper introduction? Oh dear.” She wrang her hands. 

“Not at all. It is fine, I assure you. I did not find it impertinent in the slightest. What better place for one woman to meet another than while shopping? If you will but tell me your name, I am sure we will be fast friends.”

The girl flicked her eyes up and met Emma’s briefly. “I’m Charlotte. Charlotte Contrelle.”

“Lovely to meet you Miss Contrelle. Do you live in the village? I had not heard tell of you before.”

“Well umm… That is… I do. My father recently purchased an estate nearby, but he is still very active in his shipping business. And this is his establishment.” She blushed prettily.

The family was in trade. This must be why Mrs. Jones had not thought to introduce her to Emma’s notice. It made no matter. Emma had learned that a person’s worth was not necessarily tied to their penchant for work.

“And a fine business it is. He must be so proud and so must you! Is that what this is, you buttering me up so that I purchase more goods,” Emma asked playfully.

Shocked eyes met hers and held. Miss Contrelle’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly. 

Emma laughed. “I am only teasing you. Even if you were, that would be fine. But I did not think so. I assure you.”

Miss Contrelle let out a shuddering breath. 

“All is well. Now, it seems as if I truly am in need of a shopping companion, so your presence is most welcome. The ladies I arrived with have abandoned me.” Emma gestured at Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Mortimer who were now both in a deep discussion with the clerk near the counter.

“Now that I have selected a new bonnet, you must help me find some matching trim to accentuate it.” 

Emma and Miss Contrelle spent many pleasurable moments viewing this and that in the shop before a rather harried woman rushed in.

Dressed in full gray, with frizzy hair to match, the woman attempted to compose herself as she looked around. Eyes landing on them, she approached. 

“Charlotte! I have been looking for you everywhere! How many times do I need to tell you that it is improper for a young lady to leave the escort of her chaperone! This is not the way you will catch a proper husband! Have I taught you nothing?” The woman hurranged Miss Contrelle and Emma felt compelled to jump in. 

“I am sorry, Mrs-” Emma eyed the woman, expectantly.

“Miss. Contrelle. Charlotte, it is terribly rude of you not to introduce me to your new friend. I do apologize for my niece, Miss-”  
“Mrs. Knightley,” Emma nodded cooly. “And it truly is no bother. Miss Charlotte Contrelle has been assisting me greatly today in selecting a number of things. I am so glad to have met her.”

“Oh, well. That’s fine then.” The woman tucked her hair behind an ear and brushed at her skirts. “Charlotte, next time you need to tell me when you plan to leave the house. I was worried sick when I looked for you in the study and found that you had abandoned your needlepoint. Now you will need to work extra hard this afternoon. We need to brush up your accomplishments.”

All the while, the entire conversation it seemed, Charlotte Contrelle stood meekly by and stared at her feet. How had this quiet girl, so meek and timid, had the temerity to sneak from the house, Emma wondered? 

Emma’s interest was piqued. There was more to her yet. And unmarried and in want of a husband. The wheels began to turn in her mind. Who did she know who might suit? She would need to make some inquiries. Perhaps host a party.

Emma’s pleasant thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Mortimer. They had completed their shopping. Emma could feel Mrs. Mortimer’s eyes as they swept over Emma and her companions. 

Mrs. Jones of course was the one to attempt introductions, if late. She went on and on for what seemed like ages about the history of the Contrelle’s. She complimented the shop. Asked about the young lady’s health. Commented, quite crassly in Emma’s opinion, on the wealth and prestige being achieved by Miss Charlotte Contrelle’s father. And lamented that she did not have the guidance of a mother, whom the young woman had evidently lost at birth, but at least she had the care of a doting aunt.

Emma blinked at the absolute deluge of information being thrown at her, but none of the rest of the party seemed to be a bit fazed. In fact, Miss Contrelle, the elder aunt, seemed to bask as if it were all quite fitting praise. 

In the end, Mrs. Mortimer’s seamstress was quite forgotten and never introduced. Emma’s head was filled with many thoughts as they traveled home for their repast. She had purchased the lovely new hat and several finishings. She knew she would like to return to the shop, perhaps alone, perhaps with Miss Charlotte Contrelle, but most certainly not with Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Mortimer unless it could not be avoided. 

That evening, Emma broached the subject of hosting a dinner party with Mr. Knightley. 

“After all, I am quite good at hosting and it has simply been ages since I was last able to. What do you think?” 

Mr. Knightley sighed. He had appeared both invigorated at the day’s activity and tired by it. “Emma, we are on our honeymoon. What about time spent alone and in each other’s company? Why must we bring others into it?”

“Well, we have lots of that during the nights, and it would be nice to have others to talk to once in a while. You could even discuss farming with Mr. Jones. Wouldn’t that be nice? And making friends now would give us people to visit if we ever choose to return as well.”

Mr. Knightley smiled at her, indulgently. “Anything for you, Mrs. Knightley. Now that you are in being, if you wish to host guests, wherever we are, you have my full permission to do so. I have but one request. Do not have the dog returned in the morning, tell Biddy that you will ring when you are ready for him.”

Emma blushed, recalling the morning. “Very reasonable, husband.” Standing, she walked to him. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she kissed his head.

George, it seemed, had different ideas. Scooting his chair back, he tugged her into his lap and his mouth devoured hers. Emma knew that this evening would be far from lacking in time spent together.


	9. Hostess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma hosts a party.

The desire to make new friends and be known to all as the phenomenal hostess she was drove Emma to make preparations for the proposed party at once. Before the sun was fully in the sky, she had already penned inquiries to all of the attendees: Mr. and Mrs. Jones, Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer, and the Contrelle family, father, aunt, and Miss Charlotte Contrelle. Emma had not particularly wanted to invite the Mortimer’s but she could not figure a polite way around it. Additionally, she reasoned, it wouldn’t truly be a party without sufficient guests.

She was struck, as she entrusted the missives to the footman for a hasty delivery, by the remembrance of the disdain in which she had held families like the Contrelles. In fact, as Emma considered the matter, standing in the front drawing room and watching the footman set out, she came to the realization that the Contrelles were much like the Coles, whom she knew from home, Highbury. While their families were obviously different in structure and personality, in situation, there were many similarities to be observed. 

Emma’s cheeks reddened with shame as she recalled how she had treated that family merely because they were in trade. To think, it used to be remarked upon for days if she so much as set foot in the house of such a family. Now, after her deep friendships with Mrs. Weston and Harriet, she could not but help to see things in a very different manner. She was sorry for behaving in that manner: proud. Being a merchant did not mean one was less worthy. These were kind people who were making great strides in society and aspired to gentility like that which she enjoyed. 

Emma would not make that mistake again. She was happy to have met Miss Charlotte Contrell at the Haberdashery and looked forward to having her attend her party. As Emma settled in at her desk to plan out the food and decorations to be had on such short notice, she smiled and hoped that this event would bring all involved nothing but enjoyment. In fact, she was so very occupied by all of these thoughts and plans that she hardly noticed when Mr. Knightley set out yet again to help Mr. Jones with his farming venture. 

Before the end of the day, acceptances were returned and the date was set for the very next evening. The cook and housekeeper had both been consulted and directed appropriately. Emma was all excitement and anticipation. 

However, the single most exciting piece of news to be had came from none other than Mrs. Jones. As it turned out, her nephew, a Mr. Richard Northman, had just arrived for an extended visit. Having recently completed his studies, he was soon to take up the living at a small rectory just outside of London. The family was very proud of this accomplishment and hoped to provide him with a brief respite before he embarked on the next stage of his life. Mrs. Jones had inquired quite politely as to whether it would not put Emma out to include him in the party.

Far from being put out, Emma practically vibrated with excitement at this information. She replied that of course he was more than welcome to attend. She could not quite fight down every matchmaking sense within her that screamed that this might be a perfect paring for Miss Charlotte Contrelle.

Shaking her head, she forcibly took that instinct in hand and determined not to get ahead of herself. After all, matchmaking had landed Emma in quite a bit of trouble in the past. No need to repeat those mistakes. It had been made more than clear that while she enjoyed the passtime, she was not nearly as proficient as she assumed and people were very often best left to their own devices.

Emma absentmindedly stroked the head of a very sleepy Gallant. All of the training being done with him must be very tiring, she contemplated. She convinced herself admirably not to interfere with another’s love life. However, she reasoned, what harm could there be in inviting two young people to her house and introducing them to one another? And if she could facilitate conversation, so much the better.

Emma did resolve not to share any particular intentions with her husband that night at dinner. Instead, she shared her excitement and plans and he his many activities of the day. Emma was less than interested in the intricacies of farming, but she feigned it well. And that night, they enjoyed the many pleasures to be had alone in each other’s company. 

The following day passed in a blur, what with the many preparations underway. Before she knew it, Emma was dressing for the evening. She had selected a sumptuous navy blue satin gown that not even Mrs. Mortimer would be able to scoff at. Emma was all for understated elegance. Unlike some people of her acquaintance, she truly did have an aversion to the thought of being over-trimmed. 

Everything was in readiness, Emma had selected the most scrumptious supper, set out a profusion of lovely red and purple flowers, and ensured adequate seating and possible entertainment for all. 

Emma’s breath caught as Mr. Knightley emerged from his chamber, dressed in his finest clothes and brushing his hair back from his face. Seeing her, his face softened and he approached. “Emma, you look ravishing.” He took her hands and kissed them. Then he leaned close and pressed his lips to her cheeks, her mouth. Emma hummed in appreciation. 

Disappointed that she could not linger and appreciate the embrace, she sighed and took a step back, linking her arm through his. 

“You too, husband. You look rather dashing yourself. Are you ready? Our guests will be here soon.” 

Mr. Knightley pulled back his smile and cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, of course. Lead the way, dearest.”

They walked to the entry and prepared to greet their guests. Rather than trickling in slowly, the party seemed to arrive together en masse. One moment, it was Mr. Knightley and Emma alone in the house. Then next, it was full of people.

The advantage of inviting guests all from the area and already acquainted was that they all knew each other and there was no need for Emma to go about making introductions and ensuring that everyone found things on which to converse. Even though the Contrelles did not generally circulate in the same circle as the others, they were by no means out of place and the company at large found many things to discuss with them. 

However, the disadvantage was that everyone knew each other. They had many jokes and droll stories between them that Emma did not quite understand. They did not wait for Emma before forming groups and discussing topics of mutual interest. And they didn’t always remember to solicit Emma’s opinion on matters because they were so used to talking amongst themselves.

Standing by the fire, Emma surveyed the room. The colors were not quite to her taste. The decor favored dark colors, especially rich reds, deep as wine. Everywhere her eyes landed, people were talking amicably, or so it seemed. Mr. Mortimer was the only attendee who appeared more content to stand and glare than participate, but he did so in proximity to others. 

Mr. Knightley, Mr. Jones and Mr. Mortimer stood, drinks in hand, near the window. Mrs. Jones had dragged Mr. Northman over to Miss Charlotte Contrelle and her father and had positioned the two youngest near each other. Emma could not hear the conversation, but could see the small smiles and blushes shared as Mrs. Jones talked Mr. Contrelle’s ears off. Even Mrs. Mortimer appeared to be listening companionably to Mr. Contrelle’s sister, Miss Contrelle, as they sat off to themselves. 

Everyone was enjoying themselves and had someone with whom to talk. Everyone, except Emma. She found herself feeling small and unwanted, which was ridiculous, for this was her party. She tried to shift out of this kind of thinking, but found herself dragged back to the remembrance of the party at Donwell Abbey when Mr. Knightley had invited the party and paid more mind to Harriet than herself. She recalled similar feelings and she found she could not shake them. 

She blinked back unwanted moisture and took in deep steadying breaths as she made as if warming herself at the fire was her only desire. 

The small sound of a throat clearing beside her drew Emma’s attention. Miss Charlotte Contrelle stood near her, eyes flicking up at her, smiling. 

“Thank you ever so much for the invitation, Mrs. Knightley. It was so kind of you to think of us. This house you have let is so fine. I wonder that a family does not keep it year round. And the decorations you have added for tonight are simply perfect.” 

Emma found herself turning and smiling in return. “That is very kind of you to say. I am so glad that I could have you all here today. I was so very much looking forward to your company.”

Emma put her arm through the girl’s and steered her to Mr. Northman who had somehow freed himself while her back was turned. “There is one gentleman with whom I have hardly had the chance to converse. Mr. Northman, how good it is of you to join us this evening!”

Forming a small group, the three of them, Emma attempted to help Miss Charlotte Contrelle and Mr. Northman get to know each other. He wasn’t exactly what Emma would call handsome. Tall, that was certain, but plain faced. However, he was pleasant and jovial. Emma asked after his family and upbringing, to which he replied that it was all very normal and as to be expected. He was the second son of a family of seven, four of them girls. Emma found him to be much more down to earth and less judgemental than his uncle. Overall, Emma approved. 

For the most part, he focused on how grateful he was. For his education, for his new living and for the opportunity to come here and visit his family, see the sea, and enjoy the company of all present. He had a very fine manner of speech, to Emma’s mind. Miss Charlotte Contrelle could not be enticed to contribute more than smiles, nods, and affirmations to the conversation, but Emma did not mind and she did not think that Mr. Northman was put off by her shyness in the least. 

Coming out of the haze of happiness brought on by her efforts to play cupid, Emma looked around the room and thought how pleasant it all was. That is, until her eyes saw that the guests had shifted groups and Mrs. Mortimer had positioned herself beside Mr. Knightley and was touching his arm as she laughed lightly. 

As she took a step in their direction to take her husband in hand, dinner was announced and there was no need. They led the company in and all exclaimed and remarked at Emma’s efforts. Emma preened under the attention and was in very good spirits throughout. 

Afterwards, they adjourned to the parlor with the pianoforte. 

“It is a fine instrument, even if I do not find the time I wish to practice. Do you play, Miss Contrelle?” Emma inquired.

The young lady blushed and her aunt piped up, “Yes, she dedicates herself to music quite diligently. She is very accomplished. You will play for us dear, won’t you?” 

She blushed and shook her head, but allowed herself to be led to the seat and laid her fingers upon the keys. 

Speaking so softly as nearly to be a whisper, she asked her hands, “Is there anything you wish particularly to hear?”

Emma replied, “No. Whatever you would like to play would be lovely and enjoyed by all, I am sure.”

The girl began a lovely, haunting tune. Emma found the hairs raising on her arm as she listened. It was beautiful. Mr. Northman seemed to agree. He was enchanted and wandered over to listen. At a loss for words it seemed, he merely stood by. Emma was pleased at this development and looks around to share the moment with her husband. 

Most of the party weresitting and listening to the music. But Mrs. Mortimer is again beside Mr. Knightley. Her lips were moving, but she must be speaking softly, for Mr. Knightley was obliged to lean in. The woman was smiling up at him and training her fingers along the neckline of her dress.

Emma saw red. She walked over and excused the interruption by saying that he simply had to come and listen to Miss Contrelle play, for she was a marvel. She practically marched him to a seat beside the pianoforte and did not let go of him for the rest of the evening. 

The party adjourned without much fuss. Everyone expressed much gratitude to Emma for a job well done and hope to enjoy another such event in the future. Emma smiled and nodded, but this time it was forced and difficult. 

When finally everyone was gone, she practically fell into her room, into bed, and into a deep and troubled sleep. 

As such, she slept in much later than usual in the morning, but did not feel very well rested. There was a note left for her at breakfast. Mr. Knightley had been called to assist in a local tenant farming issue. Emma was left to her own devices for the day. This hit her much harder than it had the day before and she found herself holding back tears. 

Just then, a footman entered to say that Emma had a visitor and should he say she is at home.

Perking up, Emma replied in the affirmative. She was all happiness at the prospect of company until she saw who it was. 

Mrs. Mortimer stood in the foyer and now that she has announced that she was in, Emma had no choice but to invite her to sit and order tea. In the beginning, the woman sat and drank her tea without saying much of anything. Emma wondered whyever she came over at all. 

But then, she set down her cup and saucer and eyed Emma speculatively. Then, she asked about Mr. Knightley. And Emma was taken aback by the audacity. This woman wanted to know everything, and didn’t wait a moment between answers so that Emma could get her own questions or comments in. She asked how they met, their age difference, their life experiences, are they satisfied, has Emma yet heard tell of or met his mistress. Emma froze at the last question, unsettled.

“Mr. Knightley would never do such a thing.”

“Oh, you poor naive thing. Or is it that you are just prudish and have no idea what men expect and need. That must be it. Too inexperienced to know better. Well, that is that question answered. You obviously do not know half of what you should to please or keep a man. If he has not strayed yet, he will soon. It is inevitable that he will seek out his pleasure elsewhere. All men do. Better for you to be in the know.” 

“I do not know why you felt you could come here and say such things to me.”

“I was only doing my duty as a friend. I knew you were too young to know these things and a woman can be burned by the lack of knowledge. “

“How dare you say such things of Mr. Knightley? You do not know him at all. I demand that you leave.”

Mrs. Mortimer sniffed and slowly went about putting on her gloves, rising, and adjusting her skirts.

“Now.”

“Very well. No need to be rude to someone who was merely trying to help you. I shall see myself out.”

Emma sank into the divan and cried. Truely, Mrs. Mortimer was wrong and Mr. Knightley would never do such a thing, she tried to console herself.

Emma stood and paced. She resolved never to let what Mrs. Mortimer predicted come to pass. She would just have to become better educated on the topics of the male sex and pleasure. Perhaps there would be something on the topic in the library. If not, she would need to make some discrete inquiries. She was not sure yet to whom, but she was convinced she could figure it out.

Without a second thought, she made her way to the library and searched through its many volumes. There were many on farming. Emma rolled her eyes. Of course. More on science and history. And a good number of novels. She slumped at the desk in defeat. She would just need to trust in Mr. Knightley’s love and affection for her and that it would not wane with time. She sighed, rising. The heel of her shoe caught on the rug and she pitched forward. Wheeling her arms, she tried to catch her balance. She managed to avoid the fall by grasping the curtain for support. As she did so, she uncovered a small hidden cabinet behind it.

Intrigued, she knelt and opened it. Books. Curious. But why where these hidden away? Her heart leapt. Were these what she was looking for? She hurriedly thumbed through them. Her eyebrows rose. With a smile on her lips and blush in her cheeks, she settled down. For once in her life, she was wholly consumed by the most unlikely of sources, a book.

Much later, past dinner even, Mr. Knightley finally returned home. Emma had been sitting up in bed awaiting his arrival. When she heard the door of his chamber close, she raced to her own door and cracked it open. She waited and listened until his valet exited the room. Glancing around the hall, Emma ran across and into her husband’s room. 

Leaning against the closed door, Emma tried to catch her breath. George, in naught but his nightshirt, turned toward her and frowned slightly, apparently a bit confused. Before he could fully open his mouth to ask a question, she rushed him.

Throwing her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips to his. She clung to him as she ran her tongue along first the upper lip, then the lower. When he allowed them to part, she dove in. She stroked his mouth. She withdrew and bit his lower lips.

Now they were both panting.

“Emma?” George’s arms were around her, holding her to him even as he withdrew and looked down at her, the question in his eyes.

“Husband.” She smiled at him in response. Releasing him, she took his hand and led him to the bed. “There is something new I would very much like to try, but I am unsure how you will receive it.”

“Emma, there is nothing you could do to displease me. I am sure that whatever it is you have in mind will be enjoyable. For both of us.” He smiled at her in that slanted way of his that stole her heart. She could see he was no longer concerned and more than game for her plan.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, she drew his shirt over his head, exposing his magnificent body, already stiff and ready for her.

She licked her lips. She maneuvered him to the chair beside the bed and bid him sit.

She knelt before him, looking up into his eyes. They held warmth and love, and Emma felt reassured. She placed a shaking hand upon his member. She had spent much time appreciating its length and girth within her, but she had not yet spent time this close and personal. 

George cupped her cheek. “Emma love, I do not know what you might be thinking of, but I can guess. If it is what I think, and even if it is not, know this. You never need to do anything with me or for me that you do not want to do. Nothing you do or do not do with me in bed could ever make me want you less. Love you less.”

These words of reassurance sank into her soul and she leaned forward and took him into her mouth.

George drew in a sharp breath. “Emma,” he moaned. 

Of course, Emma had heard his sounds of pleasure, but never felt so much the singular cause of them. Tentatively, she popped her mouth off of him and ran her tongue along his length before swirling it around the head and sucking it in again. This elicited more groans of appreciation and Emma felt spurred on.

She popped off again and licked lower, paying attention to every inch. As she licked and sucked, she ran her hand up and down his length. Then she ran her tongue lower still, across the hidden entrance beneath.

George jumped and gasped, “Emma!” He spluttered, “What are you doing? That is not proper, I…” He seemed scandalized.

Emma sat back on her heels. “Did you not enjoy it?”

“It is not that. It is just that it is not done!”

“I thought there was nothing we could do together that we both enjoyed that would be wrong.”

“That is true, but-”

“Did you not say so when you put your mouth upon me? I simply want to return the pleasure.”

“Yes, but-”

“Just tell me. Did you like it when I touched here?” She leaned forward and ran her fingertip along his shaft.

“Yes,” he swallowed, Adam's apple protruding.

“Here?” She lightly traced along the twin sacks beneath.

“Yes.”

“Here?” She pressed the pad of her finger against the puckered opening.

“Yes,” he threw his head back and gave in.

Emma smiled. She brought her finger to her mouth and sucked it before returning it. She took him into her mouth again, hand gripping him, assisting. With the other, she applied slight pressure as she licked and sucked and pleasured him. 

As she increased her tempo in accordance with his sounds, she slid her finger into him and his moans increased. Excited by his obvious enjoyment, Emma increased her fervor and before long, he crested the peak and she was swallowing every ounce of his pleasure. 

Sitting back, she grinned up at him. He reached down and dragged her up into his lap. He set his head onto her chest and they just breathed together. 

“I had no idea it could be like that,” he finally breathed. Emma’s nipples perked at the warm air near them. “Thank you, love.” 

Pulling back, he cupped the back of her head, drawing her down for long and lavish kisses.

Scooping her up, he walked her to the bed. “Your turn.”


	10. Mistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get interesting. There is a new party to attend, feelings, and conflict.

The following morning, Emma awoke gradually and stretched. She hummed in appreciation at the not unpleasant soreness in her body, for last night had been strenuous. Her little experiment had fueled George substantially and they had made love well into the early hours of the morning. 

Judging by the sun, not many hours had passed since then, not that she was complaining. For although she had not slept long, she felt remarkably well rested and rejuvenated. Sitting in bed, she pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Placing her chin upon them, she gazed lovingly upon the sleeping form of her husband. She smiled. He did not appear to be anywhere near to waking. 

Quietly and carefully so as not to disturb his slumber, Emma crept from the bed, donned her discarded nightdress, and crept across the hall, back to her chamber. 

There, she rang for Biddy and prepared for her day. She was most excited when Gallant accompanied her maid in. She had not had much time for him yesterday, and she was sorry.

“Oh, who’s a good boy? Who is a clever darling? Have you missed me?” Emma cooed as she rubbed the pup’s head and ears. He really was growing at an incredible rate. She wondered just how large he would be as an adult and how far he was from that size. 

She devoted a good portion of her morning to her pet and was in high spirits as she entered the dining parlor for breakfast. To her surprise, as she entered the room with Gallant at her heels, Mr. Knightley was already seated and busy reading the newspaper. He lowered it and smiled at her and Emma could swear there was a wicked glint in his eye.

“Emma,” he rumbled.

Oh my, thought she as her insides quaked. It seemed that she had been too hasty in abandoning the bed this morning, for her body was more than ready for another go.

“Husband,” she smiled in return as she took her seat. She decided she may as well allow him to know how she was feeling at present. As her breakfast was laid before her, she met his foot with the toe of her slipper before running it up and down his calf. 

He lifted an eyebrow at her as he set down the paper and took a sip of his tea. 

She went further. She went up past his knee, inching along his inner thigh. 

But he caught her foot and set it down. But his smile let her know that he was not at all displeased. 

“You seem to be in a good mood this morning, love.”

“I am. Although, I could do with a few more hours… sleep.” She winked at him, blushing. 

Answering color crept up his neck, above his cravat. “Of course. A woman needs plenty of… sleep to feel fully sated and prepared for the day.”

A huge grin spread across her face. She loved this. She adored the back and forth between her husband and herself. The matching of wits. And the innuendo-laced conversation that followed hit every note for Emma. At the end, she found herself squirming in her seat and desperately hoping he would get the hint and take her back to her room for a quick rendezvous. 

At the end of the meal, however, he cleared his throat as the servants reentered to clear the room and invited Emma to sit with him in the library for a while. She acquiesced. 

Once there, he shut the door firmly. He led her to the low divan and sat holding her hand. 

“Emma, love, there is something I wanted to ask you.” He cleared his throat. “It is something I would like to discuss, rather.” He met her eyes briefly.

Emma’s pulse quickened. This was not what she had been expecting. Was he upset? Angry? Disappointed? Had she misread him and the situation completely? Had he not enjoyed their time together last night?

“That is to say…” He tried again. “Let us be clear. I was not expecting the occurrences of yesterday. In fact, it had not even occurred to me that such actions were possible, let alone pleasurable.” His neck was reddening again. “I just… That is… I was very curious not only about how you felt about your actions and my reactions, but also, how you came by the ideas in the first place.”

Smoothing at her skirts, Emma frowned up at him, trying to figure how best to answer. How much of the tale did he truly require. “I greatly enjoyed everything we have done together, last night and otherwise. As to where I came across the notion… Would you believe me if I said I had simply imagined it in my own mind?”

He eyed her skeptically.

“Oh, very well then. I read about it in a book.”

“You read about it in a book,” he echoed.

“I can read, you know,” she huffed.

“Yes, I know. But as I recall, it is not a favored pastime of yours. However, that is irrelevant. How did you come by such a volume?”

“Here in this library.”

“What?!”

“Yes,” she paused, considering her next words. “I was looking for something entertaining to read since I was left so much to myself yesterday.”

Mr. Knightley had the grace to look abashed, but only slightly, to Emma’s consternation.

"Maybe I should leave you alone more often if it means you'll surprise me with more of the like upon my return!"

She pressed on. “And I was over by the desk and tripped. I caught myself on the curtain and made a most amazing discovery. A secret. Hidden behind it. You may go and see for yourself. I have returned all of the books I found there. They were quite… illuminating.” 

Mr. Knightley obliged and searched, as directed. He looked over the volumes in amazement. “I had never thought the like existed. Let alone that I would find them here.”

Just then, the door opened and a footman entered, bearing a letter on a silver tray. 

Mr. Knightley hurriedly buried the book he was holding under a sheaf of papers on the desk and made as though he was simply rearranging the various documents into neatness. 

Emma took the note and opened it. She skimmed it, scowling.

“What is it?”

“A challenge.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just an invitation to a houseparty at the Mortimers in two days time. Evidently, they intend it to be ever so entertaining and go so late that they have graciously offered up rooms in their homes to accommodate all of their guests overnight.” Emma’s voice dripped disdainful sarcasm. 

“I do not see the problem. I thought you enjoyed socializing with the families in the area?”

“She is trying to outdo me! It is in the subtext. My party was evidently dull and short. She will remedy this. The odious woman.”

“Oh come now, she is not that bad. I think she truly wants a companion to talk to. You could offer your hand in friendship.”

“Ha!” Emma scoffed. She was in no mood to discuss this further, so she excused herself saying she had been derelict in her duties to Gallant and should check on his training. 

She marched to the stables, all the while continuing a diatribe beneath her breath against the foul Mrs. Mortimer. She vowed that nothing could force her to attend any event held by that woman. What did it matter anyway? This was not her home. She need never associate with these people again if she did not desire to do so. 

She huffed in righteous indignation as she hauled open the heavy wooden door. She schooled her face as the less than pleasant aroma hit her. 

Immediately, her eyes found her dog and a boy in his teens working. Gallant saw her too and his tail set to wagging violently, but he did not leave his seated position in front of the boy, who started at noticing her.

After some cajoling, Emma convinced the lad to demonstrate the training he had been doing for her. She watched as Gallant sat, laid down, backed up, heeled, followed, and even rolled over. At the end of the display, she clapped and cheered. Gallant joined in the celebration and bounded about her.

“Oh, my clever, clever boy. You are the very best, aren’t you!” He basked in her praise and trailed her back to the house.

The remainder of the day was uneventful. Emma received and replied to letters from home and spent time in the company of her most faithful companion, Gallant. 

In the afternoon, Miss Charlotte Contrelle came, surprisingly on her own, to pay a visit. At first, Emma was all happiness to have her company. They discussed the party Emma had held with many compliments extended. Then the topic moved on to the many charms of a certain Mr. Northman who was visiting. It seemed that Charlotte was fairly enamored with the young man. He had taken the liberty of writing to her to express his supreme pleasure at hearing her play. Charlotte blushed and cooed over the missive as she shared it with Emma. 

However, when she withdrew a second letter, Emma’s mood turned. It was penned in the same sharp penmanship that marked the earlier invitation she had received. It appeared that Charlotte too was invited to this farce at the Mortimer home. 

Emma struggled to maintain a pleasant expression. She made quick excuses about Mr. Knightley wanting to spend more time on their own as it was their honeymoon.

“Oh, yes, yes of course,” Miss Contrelle averted her gaze and returned the letter to its envelope with shaking fingers. “I had hoped… but no, of course you are right. I should never have presumed upon your time.” The young woman appeared close to tears and rose as if to leave.

Emma caught her hand. “No dear! Not at all. There is no affront in visiting or inquiring on the matter.”

Miss Contrelle did not appear appeased.

“Oh do tell me what is the matter. You seem ever so distressed.” Emma squeezed the girl’s fingers with her own.

Miss Contrelle let out a huge sigh. “I do not know how to talk with men as you do, Mrs. Knightley. You make it appear effortless, even pleasurable. I wanted so badly to talk with Mr. Northman all night and it was not until you that we even had a conversation. Even then, I could not seem to find words and was no better than a bump on a log. I had been hoping that you might be there to smooth the way. I do not know that I could do it alone. Perhaps I had best decline the invitation as well.” She eyed it wistfully. 

Emma closed her eyes and gathered herself. Distaste for the hostess was nothing in the face of this cry for assistance. Nothing could keep her from doing what she could to help two potential lovers meet. With a deep breath, she reopened them and smiled kindly at this girl she hoped to be her friend. 

“Of course you should not decline. And neither will I. We shall woo this Mr. Northman for you yet.”

The remainder of the visit was all excitement and plans from Miss Contrelle. Emma tried to join in with equal enthusiasm, but the most she could muster was acceptance and the slightest glimmer of hope for her matchmaking pursuits. Although, she reminded herself, she would do more than help them find out for themselves if they would suit. She was finished with matchmaking, after all.

When Emma went to find Mr. Knightley and inform him of their new upcoming plans, she found him dozing on the divan in the library, book open on his chest, not of the scandalous variety to Emma’s disappointment, and none other than Gallant cuddled up beside him. 

Neither stirred, so Emma shut the door. Rubbing her own eyes, she made her way to her chamber for a much needed night of sleep.

When the day of the houseparty arrived, Emma reluctantly prepared and only disembarked slightly later than was truly proper. As they approached the manor, they heard the coachman warning off dogs, which had apparently approached the vehicle. Emma glanced out the window and was surprised to see angry beasts that looked more like wolves than dogs, growling low around them. They were called back by a sharp word in the distance and the conveyance jolted forward. Emma frowned, but was soon distracted at the sight of a fine, old house, covered with vines.

Warmth and noise greeted them as they approached the door; the event was in full swing. Far more people than Emma had yet seen were in attendance. Wine was flowing and several card tables were set up in various parts of the room. Raucous laughter blanketed everything. Emma was a bit taken aback. It was not the genteel sounds of politeness to which she was accustomed. She was a bit discomfited. 

From the moment they entered, Mr. Knightley was whisked away by the gentlemen to discuss some business or other. Emma soon found herself near a card table, but declined to play. Nonetheless, a glass of wine was placed in her hand. 

For lack of anything else to do or anyone she recognized to talk to, Emma drank and watched the play. Time passed strangely. Players changed. Games were won and lost. But no matter how much Emma drank, her glass always seemed to be full.

Before long, Emma felt thick headed and warm. Her vision was slightly blurred and she stumbled when she stepped.

Suddenly, Mr. Knightley was there. Asking if she was alright. Asking if she wished to return home. But then Mrs. Mortimer was there too. Insisting that she was fine. She was simply having fun. If she needed to rest, Mrs. Mortimer would show them to the room in which they might stay. 

Emma could not line up her thoughts and words in order. She dearly wished to reply scathingly. But instead, she soon found herself tucked into bed and falling into blackness. 

Femenine laughter broke into Emma’s hazy state of unconsciousness. She sat up, confused, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her stomach roiled and her head pounded. She fumbled for the bellpull, thinking to call for some water.

Unable to locate it, she stumbled from the bed and into the hallway. She managed to make her way to the kitchen, convince a servant that there was no trouble and no need for fuss and to bring her up a tray shortly. 

As she made her way back to her room carefully, she heard that same feminine laughter again. Her head, still a bit fuzzy and painful, swung side to side trying to find the source. Her eyes caught on the deep red silk of a skirt as it swished into a room. She blinked, confused. Wasn’t that the room she was put in earlier?

Cocking her head, she stared and tried to remember. Then she heard the rumbling notes in her husband’s timbre accompanied by more low, sultry, laughter. 

Unsure what to think, Emma stood, frozen to the spot against the wall. Moments, or perhaps hours passed. 

Mrs. Mortimer finally reemerged into the hallway, looking thoroughly towseled. Her hair was no longer in its neat bun, but falling in waves about her. She adjusted the bodice and skirts of her red gown. Her face was flushed and smiling.

Then her eyes looked up and met Emma’s. Rather than looking abashed or ashamed, the woman winked. She winked at Emma. Emma’s blood ran cold before rapidly coming to a boil. It caused her to feel light headed all over again and stumble as she attempted to rush forward. 

She had hardly made it a few tripping steps down the hall when a servant approached from behind her carrying her requested tray. The young girl asked if Emma was quite alright or if anything more was needed.

Emma put on a brave face and replied that she had merely lost her way. The girl smiled and guided her to the door from which Mrs. Mortimer had emerged. Within, was a sleeping Mr. Knightley, snoring softly. 

Emma showed the girl where to set the tray and bid her good evening. Emma sat by the fire, food beside her, and stared into its depths. She no longer desired sustenance. In fact, the pain in her head and stomach was a welcome distraction from the one in her heart. 

Time passed as she sat there, arms about herself. Before long, silent, painful tears fell, choking her, constricting her chest. And Emma found she was unable to make them stop.

There she sat until daybreak. As soon as the first shards of light stabbed through the gaps in the curtains, she rose and went to fetch her coach. She would not spend another moment here. Finally dry eyed, but completely hollowed out, she fled.


	11. On the Cliffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings!!
> 
> This chapter is NOT light and fluffy. We have conflict, and fear, and intense emotions. There is also violence and the threat of non-con.

The following days were a blur. She kept to her room in the mornings and evenings. She sent for food. She claimed her courses had come at last and she was indisposed for the duration. Nothing quite put men off like the thought of a woman’s monthly cycle. Emma would have the maid deny him entrance or tell him she was sleeping. If he insisted on checking, she feigned slumber.

As the result, Mr. Knightley wrote her encouraging notes via her maid asking if there was anything she needed or anything he could do. When she declined, he accepted inquiries to assist Mr. Jones, or so he told her in his letters. 

While he was absent during the day, Emma took to taking long walks in the countryside with Gallant at her heels. It was colder now, especially along the clifftops she favored. 

She often sat and contemplated the rushing waves below her. But she was empty. Unable to feel anything. The sight of the ocean which had first so excited and entranced her, now held no sway. Nothing did.

As she sat, she thought about her marriage. About George. About their long history and how their relationship had developed. She knew that extramarital affairs were fairly commonplace and oft overlooked, but she was not sure that she could. Perhaps if she loved him less, she would not have felt this as keenly. Pain seemed the only feeling to permeate this persistent fog about her. It was deep, as if someone plunged their hand into her chest and squeezed at her heart, threatening to crush it. 

Tears came often. Gallant by her side grounded her. He would sit by her and lick her hands and face. And for a moment, she could breathe again, and she would return home. 

Biddy remarked upon Emma’s appearance and habits. “Are you quite well, milady? Only you have not touched your trays these past days and look as if you have not slept a wink. Are you very sure that it would not be best to call for a doctor? Perhaps if we asked Mr. Knightley.”

“No!” Emma practically shouted. When Biddy drew back, Emma collected herself. “No. Truly I am quite all right. Thank you for your worry, but it is unwarranted. Fetch me a tray and some tea and I shall have some. All is well.”

Emma knew this wasn’t the truth, but she did not want to allow anyone in. She knew her skin had begun to look sallow and her eyes sunken in the dark circles beneath them. That night, she did force several mouthfuls, but fed more to Gallant. Still, she remained in her room. Still, she denied her husband’s company. Still, she tossed and turned and cried. 

The next day, as Emma sat again on the rocks at the cliffside, patting Gallant absently, the sound of hoofbeats approached. Emma blinked and broke her gaze from the water. She took in her surroundings. The skies had turned gray while she had been here for an indeterminable amount of time. The winds had picked up and the tall grass nearly flattened in its onslaught. 

Beside her Gallant whimpered as a dark figure rode toward them. Heavy atop his mount, he drew near enough at last for Emma to make him out: Mr. Mortimer.

The heart she had thought shrivelled and gone, quickened in fear. It seemed she did have emotions remaining aside from pain, she noted dispassionately. 

Stopping several feet from her, the man dismounted. Again, Emma noted how tall and broad he was, at least double her own size. 

He glared first at her, then at Gallant, distasteful as he walked toward her. He crowded her, in this open expanse, and forced her to step back.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Emma managed to get out in a hoarse voice.

The man grunted. He appeared to be appraising her. Red faced, the smell of drink reaching Emma’s nostrils, he did not stagger. 

He shook a fat finger at her, “You.”

Emma was unsure how to respond. She did not have any desire to be in his proximity. She took a few steps around him, giving a wide berth. But again he advanced.

“Oh no you don’t. You think you are so clever. All you women do. Thinking yourselves so fine and desirable. You use men. You think you can do whatever you like with them. You think we are mindless beasts who exist to do your bidding. A glimpse here, a touch there. You think to train us. But you have no desire to keep us, oh no.” As he spoke he took it in turns to address the sky, the grass, and Emma.

She tried to move away in smaller steps so as to avoid his notice. Unfortunately, any movement on her part trained his eyes on her.

“And you are just like her. Flirting. Conspiring. Trying to ensnare.”

Panic was growing within her, clearing away the fog. Emma threw tact to the wind and began to walk away with purpose, ignoring his words.

Fingers caught her arm in a biting grasp and she was spun around.

“Don’t you walk away from me, you whore.”

He grabbed her by both arms in a punishing vice, shaking her as he spoke. “She told me, you know. She told me how she and your husband have been carrying on. Behind my back, or so she thought. But when I asked her flat out after seeing the way she threw herself at him, she admitted it. She spat it at me. I showed her.”

He reached down and began unbuttoning his trousers. Emma shoved at his chest, hoping to unbalance him, but he did not let go. Emma screamed, and Gallant leapt into the air and sank his teeth into the man’s arm.

Emma ran. She could hear him yelling and cursing behind her. She heard Gallant’s yelp and a thud that sounded like a kick landing against a body. “I could have sworn I already killed you, you mongrel. I should have. Teaches me not to leave a job unfinished.”

Heavy weight crashed into Emma’s back and drove her to the ground. She breathed in grass and dirt as she struggled, pinned. She found herself being flipped. 

Mr. Mortimer was above her, a manic gleam in his eyes. He was unhinged. Sweat beaded his brow and upper lip. “Thinks he can cuckold me, does he? Well, if he thinks he can just take what is mine as he pleases, I shall return the favor, only better.”

Emma’s arms were trapped under the man’s thighs. She struggled in vain. She dug in her heels. She tried to buck, but it was useless. He was too large. He laughed at her.

He put his hands into the top of her dress. “Always teasing me with these, weren’t you. Begging me to notice. You’ve been asking for this all along. Why fight it now?” He pulled, but the fabric held. This angered him. He pulled a knife from his boot and severed the bodice. Emma let out a blood curdling scream. 

She knew this was the end. And all she could think about, all that entered her mind, was an all consuming desire for her husband to be there. No matter what had happened, more than any other person on the planet, she wanted him, needed him. To save her. To hold her. To comfort her. To tell her all would be alright. She desperately wanted the chance to express her pain and disappointment and repair their relationship. She did not want the last time she saw him to be the last time she saw him. 

Tears streamed down her face as the knife was moved lower through the fabric, rending her dress in two. She was fully exposed now, to him, his rotten eyes, the sky, the world, and everything. She shut her eyes. Unwilling to take him in the only way she felt she could avoid. 

And suddenly, the heavy weight atop her was heaved and was off her.

She opened her eyes and saw a liveried man pulling him away even as he fought and struggled. Her mind seemed incapable of taking in all that was happening. Someone else came up behind her and tried to help her to her feet.

She heard voices calling, “Emma?” and “Mrs. Knightley” over and over all around, at near and far. The man next to her yelled. “She’s here! I’ve got her.”

Her legs refused to hold her weight and began to give as she struggled to hold her dress together. She was shaking violently. She didn’t know who the servant keeping her upright was and she didn’t much care for his hands upon her person at the moment, but without him, she would surely be sprawled once more upon the ground. 

“Emma! Emma, love? Are you alright?”

Her eyes at last focused. It was George. He ran to her, taking off his jacket and covering her in it. He cradled her in his arms. Overwhelmed and awash in so many emotions, tears began to fall. 

She looked all around and saw that he and many servants seemed to have formed a search party for her. 

As she trembled and sobbed in her husband’s arms, her eyes sought out her companion, Gallant. When at last they fell upon him, she gasped and blubbered. Somehow, George made sense of her ramblings and ordered yet another servant to look after him.

Over it all the excitement, that man’s screaming permeated, but her brain could not assimilate the words as it seemed every ounce of blood pounded in her ears and her chest constricted. As the sound of his voice permeated her consciousness she shook harder and struggled to put her eyes on him, to ensure he was not too close. 

The man was red faced and yelling, fighting off the man who had pulled him from her. Before long, Mr. Mortimer had pushed the servant off and made to bully his way back to Emma, but two more stood in his path. Blustering and gesturing, Mr. Mortimer stomped to his horse, mounted, and rode away, servants yelling and chasing after.

Mr. Knightley’s mouth was moving. He looked at her, at the servants. The skies broke and drops of cold rain hit Emma’s face. Everything was so very confused, every sense was coming to her in a disjointed jumble. Darkness was encroaching on her vision with each blink until finally she was consumed by it completely. 

\--

When Emma opened her eyes again, she had to blink against the brightness that assailed them. She was met by an incredible sense of deja vu. She was tucked into the big four poster bed in her room. Gallant’s warm head was upon one hand and the other was held by a very disheveled Mr. Knightley, who sat slumped in a chair against the bed. 

She tried to make sense of where she was and what had happened. She opened her mouth and tried to call her husband’s name, but her throat ached and her voice creaked. However, it was enough to cause him to stir.

“Emma?” he asked bleary eyed. “Emma, are you alright?” He stood and cupped her face, brushing back stray strands of hair.

Emma cleared her throat and tried again. But her mouth felt stuffed with cotton and the sound that escaped was raspy. 

Mr. Knightley jumped from the bed and pulled the cord beside it. “Not to worry, love, I will have something for you to drink soon.”

She reached her fingers up to press at her neck and noticed dark purple bruises on her arms. Her eyes widened.

Mr. Knightley followed her gaze and scowled. Placing his hands on his hips, he kicked at the floor, apparently angry. “I can’t believe he did that to you. And would have done worse. I just can’t…” Emma could hear the emotion in his voice, clogging his vocal cords. She felt it resonate within her.

She reached out towards him. When he gave her his hand, she pulled him down beside her and he practically collapsed. A sob shook him as he laid his head upon her chest. “I cannot imagine what I would do without you. If I ever lost you.” 

Emma held him to her as he cried. She held him there even as Biddy entered, set up a tray of tea and pastries, and left. She held him until he had no tears more to cry. 

He sat up and wiped his nose, glancing at her, abashed. “It is I who should be comforting you, not the other way around.”

He rose and brought her a cup of tea. He held it to her lips and helped her drink. “I am so very sorry, Emma. I am sorry I let this happen to you. I am sorry I was not able to keep you safe. I am sorry I failed you.”

Taking the sips he offered, when he said this, she stopped him. She cleared her throat yet again. Her voice came out in a rasp. “You did not fail me. You saved me.”

“Not soon enough.” He set the tea down and resumed his seat. “We have much to talk about. Not just this. I know you have been avoiding me.”

Emma opened her mouth.

“No, do not deny it.” Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed. “I had known something was wrong ever since that night at the Mortimers’. I thought maybe you were just embarrassed at drinking too much or something. That you would come round. I did not want to push you. I truly thought you would trust me enough to share whatever was bothering you. However, after days of not seeing you, I could not wait any longer for you to tell me. Enough was enough, I had thought. Perhaps I had distracted myself too long with helping Mr. Jones with his tenant farming issues. There was no undoing it, but I could change it. I came home early yesterday in search of you, did you know?”

Emma shook her head.

“I dearly hoped to find you. Even if your courses had started as you so arduously claimed, I could still speak with you and spend time in your company. At any rate, when I looked for you, you were nowhere to be found. I made inquiries, but no one seemed to know. Finally, after much coercion, I convinced Biddy to tell me if she knew anything, and she directed me to the cliffs. Emma, this terrified me. With the rains coming and you not returning.”

He swallowed audibly.

“I gathered servants and we searched for any signs of you returning, but nothing. So we went looking. My only thought was to get you home safely before the storm, for it promised to be a bad one. I had no idea what we would find. I should have moved faster. I should have gotten there sooner. I could have stopped him.” Voice breaking, he looked away. “I failed you. And then I made it worse and failed to capture him and bring him to justice,” he whispered to his hands.

Emma reached up and cupped his face. She turned it so that she could look into his eyes. “I grant you that I have been avoiding you of late. I have a question for you. Have you engaged in relations with Mrs. Mortimer?”

Mr. Knightley jerked back, as if struck. “What?!”

“She gave me the impression, on more than one occasion, that you would become dissatisfied in our bed and seek out a mistress, and then caused me to believe that it had been her.”

“Emma! No! Never! I would never! How could you think that of me?” He rose and paced, dragging his hand through his hair. 

“I did not. And I maintained that you would not. Until I saw her outside our room the night of the Mortimer party. She spent time alone with you. She was disheveled leaving our chamber. And you were undressed, in bed.”

“Emma, I hardly recall seeing her at all that evening, but I guarantee that I have never and would never engage in any sort of conjugal behavior with her, or any other woman who is not you. I did not engage in drink, was not beyond my senses, and absolutely had no physical contact with her. I retired early, and she did lead me to the room. I was worried when I did not find you in bed, but she said she would make sure to find you. She thought perhaps you had just made a trip to the necessary or the like. I do confess to being overtired and falling asleep almost immediately after she left.” He rubbed at his eyes and over his face.

“Wait, you said she gave you this impression of my dissatisfaction more than once,” he turned to her staring, “Is that why you went out of your way to bring new activities into our bedroom? To maintain my interest?”

Emma nodded and hung her head. 

“Emma, dearest. It is you I love. You, I reserved this space in my heart, my life, for. I would not dream of allowing another to occupy this space. Not even before we were wed, when all I had was hope that you might one day fill the office of wife. It matters not what we do, or how often we do it, or how adventurous we are in bed or out, all that matters is that it is you. You in my life. You as my wife. You in my bed. You with me, always. Can you not see that? Have I not shown you?”

Now Emma was crying too. “Yes. Yes you have shown me. Time and time again. I am sorry for having doubted. I am sorry for ruining everything!”

He came to her. Held her. He climbed into bed and they cried together, clinging. They cried for the misunderstandings, the pain, and what might have happened to them both if the day previous had gone differently. 

They had finally calmed down and were beginning to doze when there was a knock at the door. George went to answer it. A whispered conversation transpired. He returned to the bed, kissed the top of Emma’s head, and said he would return shortly. The magistrate had arrived.

Emma watched his retreating back. She eased herself from the bed and walked to the abandoned tray of food. She refreshed her tea and tried to take some sustenance while she waited, but her stomach was in knots.

Before long, George reentered. He came and knelt before her, taking her hands. “Emma, there is something I need to tell you. I thought that this situation might become more difficult trying to bring Mr. Mortimer to justice after his escape. As it turns out, I was correct. No one has been able to locate him. The search was hampered greatly by the storms.”

Emma felt her pulse quicken and a throbbing begin at her temples. She struggled to bring in enough air.

“Emma, Emma please do not worry, dearest.” Reaching up, George held her face in his hand. “You are safe now, Emma. And what is more, I guarantee you this, that man will never set a finger on you again. In fact, if I have my way, you will never so much as have cause to lay eyes on the either of them again.” 

George lifted her, and assumed her seat. He settled her in his lap and stroked her back and hair, soothing. Gallant limped over and put his head on Emma’s lap. 

Both of her boys helped Emma recover herself over the difficult next few days. Physically, her body recovered quickly, but mentally, she experienced frequent flashbacks and nightmares. If it were not for their constant, reassuring presence, she would have succumbed to despair. As it was, she made slow and steady strides of progress. Feeling happier and more herself for larger portions of each day. All she could hope was that it would continue.


	12. The Matter Resolved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning!!
> 
> Still not light and fluffy, but our conflicts are resolved, mostly.   
> Minor character deaths.  
> ALL THE FEELINGS.

Thunder shook the window panes and the whooshing of a cold and sickly draft shocked Emma into wakefulness. Heart racing, breaths coming in quick pants, she shot up in bed. Tears fell as she fought back the memories of a few days before. Had it been a few days? It felt like a lifetime ago and also, inexplicably, as if it had happened mere moments before. 

As she struggled to catch her breath, a cold nose pressed against her cheek as Gallant lifted his sleepy head to inspect her. From her other side, a hand came up to rub her back. The bed shifted and George sat up beside her, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s all right. You are safe. I have you,” he spoke to her, low and soothing. This was not the first time since her ordeal that she had been woken in the night. 

He pulled her to his chest and cuddled her there. He stroked her hair and continued to murmur reassurances until her breathing and heart rate slowly returned to normal. She clung to his nightshirt as an anchor to the present. She valued his presence, his comfort. No less comforting, was the solid weight of Gallant who had scooted into her lap.

To think, not that long ago George had rejected the very idea of a dog. Now, not only did Gallant accompany her nearly everywhere, but he also slept in their very bed at night. When he did not think she was looking, Emma had even caught George petting and speaking lovingly to the pup, who was still growing bigger each day and recovering nicely. More than once, she had glimpsed her husband passing the dog choice bits from his meal tray. Not wanting to interrupt this trend with her notice, she left it unremarked, but smiled about it to herself whenever she thought on it.

Slowly, wedged between George and Gallant, Emma’s mind calmed, and she was able to return once more to sleep.

The days since the event which shall not be named occurred had been fuzzy for Emma. The storms had continued and the temperature had dropped considerably. They were well and truly on their way to Winter. A footman had been assigned particularly to Emma to accompany her anywhere she might wish to go in or out of the house. But Emma had not ventured out of doors and both Gallant and George had stuck to her side like glue. 

When she laid in bed, recovering, so too were they there. When she ventured to the library to write letters, they came too. Far from irritating her, their presence helped her steady herself and feel calm even in the face of so many things unresolved. 

She worried greatly about Mr. Mortimer making another appearance. She did not know what she would say or do if this happened. She dearly wanted to return home, but she and George felt it best to be nearby so as to be readily available to the magistrate should that be necessary. 

Unwilling to go out of doors, Emma was somewhat at a loss as to what to do with most of her time. She tried many things, but none could retain her attention. She began and cast off project after project, from needlepoint to painting. She even tried dedicating more time to the practice of the pianoforte, but was even less motivated to practice than before.

George, seeing her distress, decided to read to her. After they had prepared for bed each evening, they reclined together on the chaise lounge before the fire. Covered in blankets, she sat against his chest, between his arms and knees. She laid her head against him and listened to the steady thump of his heart. 

Emma did not much care what he had selected to read and was prepared simply to enjoy his closeness. However, she soon found that he had selected not a book on agriculture or of sermons, but a novel. This was not his typical reading material and she was a bit surprised. As he read, Emma found herself entering the story more and more. She had never enjoyed reading as much.

When finally a clear day emerged, Emma received a visitor. Not only she, but also Mr. Knightley made sure of who it was before admitting them into the house.

Calling for tea and cakes to be brought, Emma welcomed Miss Charlotte Contrelle into the drawing room. 

“Oh, Mrs. Knightley, how good of you to see me. I had so worried that you would be greatly aggrieved with me. I am so very sorry that I insisted you attend Mrs. Mortimer’s gathering and then did not attend myself. I considered writing a letter to explain, but my aunt thought it best if I came to see you in person. I do so value your friendship and would not for the world risk it by appearing impolite or ungrateful.”

The girl fidgeted in her seat and smoothed invisible wrinkles from her skirt. 

“The most extraordinary thing happened you see. The day of the party arrived and we received a missive from Mrs. Jones. As it turned out, the Jones’s had attended a soiree at the Mortimer’s in the past and felt that it fell to them to censure such an event by withholding their attendance. It seemed that they were known for a positive glut of vices including excess drink and gambling. I had had no idea when I asked if you would attend with me, I assure you. I had never heard tell of it. Please believe me, Mrs. Knightley.”

The girl lifted her eyes to Emma’s. Emma, felt a flair of irritation, but with how very contrite the girl was, could not hold blame there. She nodded and smiled weakly, encouraging her to continue.

“At any rate, Mr. Jones is of the love the sinner, hate the sin variety and the Mortimer’s are generous of donation. So they still socialize with them routinely, but would never attend a party at their home.”

Charlotte swallowed and her face began to pinken. “Mr. Northman requested of his aunt a dinner with the Contrelle family and his aunt was more than happy to oblige. We spent the evening there. It was lovely. You cannot imagine, Mrs. Knightley. It had been much quieter, to be sure, but I had had a lovely walk in the gardens with Mr. Northman and a chance to talk some about our respective interests.” 

Charlotte stuttered, “I think I might be in love, Mrs. Knightley. What think you? Is it possible to fall so quickly?” 

Emma declined to answer, but her smile warmed. The more she heard, the less she connect the two events, even if their timing was similar. And at least in this matter, Emma had only positive feelings. After all, this is exactly what she had hoped for the young woman. “It is not for me to know the matters of another’s heart. I do not blame you at all for your change of plans, dear. It does sound as if you had a lovely evening and it was well worth it.”

Emma had been steeling herself the entire conversation for questions regarding the events after that night. She did not know what, if anything, was widely known in the area. Mr. Knightley had done all he could to ensure discretion but there was no guarantee.

Miss Contrelle didn’t appear to know what had happened and Emma didn't tell her. If anything, she was relieved. The rest of the visit was light and pleasant and did much to lift Emma’s mood. Elsewhere in the world, people were living their lives. People were kind and pleasant and caring. People were falling in love and creating their own matches. It filled her heart to think on it. 

Later in the day, Emma had a second caller, Mrs. Jones. She positively talked Emma’s ear off. Emma was still feeling the repercussions of her trauma and was unable to give Mrs. Jones her full attention. Most of what was said went unheard. Emma had never been so thankful for Mrs. Jones’s ability to hold a conversation on her own. 

She was still reeling from the knowledge that Mrs. Jones would warn off Miss Contrelle and not herself. More than Charlotte, she felt this woman held some blame. But at the same time, she did not want to reveal the full course of events were they not known. So, she pretended to listen, all the while enveloped in her own thoughts. 

All in all, it was fine. Many condolences were offered for Emma’s poor health, for that it seemed was what was widely known. Everything was fine, that is until Mrs. Jones brought up the topic of the Mortimer’s. 

“I know you have been ill for the past several days, so you may not have heard.”

Mrs. Jones had not heard from the Mortimers lately and thought to call. When she was there, the house was in chaos. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Mortimer could be found and they had left no notice nor made any preparations. It was not unheard of for them to quit the seaside quickly, but at the very least, the servants expected to be apprised so as to close the house.

“Not only this, but it appeared that Mr. Mortimer was wanted. By the law, no less! Can you believe such a thing?”

Yes, in fact Emma could, she thought.

“I have no idea why. It is ever so strange. But that was not the whole of it, nor the worst. As I was getting set to leave the Mortimers, a ruckus of sorts began in the dog shed. The kennel master was cleaning out the area, as was his weekly habit, and found Mrs. Mortimer’s body half consumed by the beasts. Well, of course they all had to be put down, now that they’d had a taste for human flesh, but there was nothing for it.” 

Mrs. Jones took out her fan and hastily fanned herself. “Well, I was positively beside myself to hear such a thing. Of course, I did not look, but I did await the magistrate and give a thorough account of all I knew. Poor Mrs. Mortimer. She was such a kind and thoughtful woman, She had helped me select just the right curtains, had she not? Whatever would South End do without her? It could never be the same.” 

Mrs. Jones seemed of a mind to lament at length. But after the barest recounting of the facts, Emma could take no more. She was hyperventilating. She felt altogether ill, light headed and clammy. She apologized to Mrs. Jones and retired immediately.

George, never far off these days, followed her to their room and held her through all of her feelings. He assured her that the search is still on and Mr. Mortimer will be found. Emma sobbed. She had hated the woman. Hated her for flirting with George. Hated her for making her doubt herself. Hated her in so many ways and for so many reasons. But she never would have wished this fate upon her. Suddenly she remembered with a start, Mr. Mortimer had told Emma that he had ‘taken care’ of Mrs. Mortimer. 

She cried and confided in her husband, shaking. He promised he would take care of it all. He would not let it touch her. George wrote to the magistrate but told him that Emma is far too fragile to be questioned. He relayed this information in her stead. 

He and Gallant continued to guard Emma day and night. 

Once, Emma caught Mr. Knightley talking sternly to Gallant. Instructing him to stay by Emma’s side always and guard her. Gallant seemed to be listening intently and eager to oblige. 

Mr. Knightley knelt and put his head to Gallant’s, rubbing him behind the ears. Emma made not a sound from the bed where she had been and instead closed her eyes again and returned to sleep. 

Days passed in this way. Seeming normality, paralyzing fear, and perpetual uncertainty ruled her hours. 

Finally, one bright morning, after much worrying, they received a visit from the magistrate and learned Mr. Mortimer’s fate. He had not fled by train, carriage, or boat. So they searched the surrounding areas well. Checked all houses. Checked the cliffs, fields, forests. 

With the heavy rain and gale force winds, it was determined, he must have fallen on his way home and broke his neck. His body was recovered. There were no known relatives. It was unknown what would become of the estate now.

The breath she hadn’t known she had been holding shuddered from Emma.

“We can never know the particulars now as to what transpired that night, but the best we can surmise is that Mr. Mortimer first took his anger out on his wife before seeking you out. No one knows how he knew where to find you.” The portly man twisted his hat in his hands and cleared his throat. “At any rate, you will not have to worry about either, ever again.”

More tears came to Emma. As much as she had disliked the woman, no one deserved the fate Emma had nearly experienced. It was over. It was finally over. Sobs of pain, of sorrow, of fear, of relief, of all the uncountable emotions wracked her. And her boys were there, holding her to the earth, to reality, comforting her in the way only they could.


	13. Leavetaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home again, home again, jiggety jig

These past weeks had taken an unexpected toll on Emma. Never before in her life had she experienced such a far reaching variety of emotions. She had left her home in hopes of new experiences, but had received far more than she had bargained for. 

She felt that she was recovering nicely and knew she had Gallant and George to thank. They were nearly always by her side, cheering her. But she still retained an overall queasiness, or perhaps uneasiness, who could say. Not to mention, she found herself sleeping in more often than she was previously want to do and even longing for her bed and a nice luxurious nap at odd times of the day.

Overall, this trip, which had begun so well, had lost some of its appeal for Emma. She longed for the comfort and security of home. She felt it beyond time to return, but one could not simply up and quit the sea without notice or planning. 

By and by, the idea was discussed with her husband and it was agreed upon that they would make their exit in one week’s time. This would give them long enough to close the house and make their goodbyes to all their new, remaining, acquaintances. 

Emma was excited for the first time in what felt like a long time. It had been getting steadily cooler as time passed here at the sea and by the time they returned to Hartfield it would very nearly be Christmas. Emma felt this to be a strong positive omen for their journey. She added going to town to select gifts for her little nieces and nephews, sister, brother-in-law, father, friends, and of course, Mr. Knightley, to her list of things to complete before the week was out. 

Even with these positive prospects in mind, Emma struggled to find enjoyment in the activities she previously loved so dearly. On one particular evening, she attempted to occupy herself at the piano. Half-heartedly, she began a tune, but her fingers felt heavy as they plodded along the keys. She sighed, about to give up when in strolled none other than Mr. Knightley.

Emma met his eyes and smiled, her spirits lifting significantly. Lord, she loved this man. What had she ever done without him? She watched as his normally solemn face cracked and a smile broke out, the beautiful, secret one he reserved for her. Her insides fluttered.

Before she had long to dwell on these feelings, Gallant, who had been walking beside her husband, trotted forward and licked her hand.

“Hello, lovely!” She exclaimed as she dutifully patted the dog’s head.

Mr. Knightley raised his eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead he cleared his throat and from behind his back produced his fiddle.

Emma blinked and sat up in surprise. She had not even realized he had brung the instrument. She had not heard him play in ages. Gallant trotted out of the room, bored at the inattention.

Wordlessly, Mr. Knightley placed the wood beneath his chin and began to test the sound in sure strokes.

The flutters were back. This was something she had never shared, but the sight of him playing, and even more so, the sound of his singing, had always stirred something within her, emotionally and otherwise. Emma watched his long, nimble fingers moving. She studied his handsome face as he closed his eyes so as to concentrate. 

Suddenly, his eyes opened and his heated gaze locked on hers. “Shall we play together, wife?”

Emma swallowed. Never had they done this together. It was strange to think, as they had done so many other things, but this, never. She had wanted it for so long. Doubly so after enduring his duet with Jane Fairfax. She squirmed in her seat. She cleared her throat.

“Yes, husband. That would be a delight. What is it you would like to play?”

“I have an idea.” And with that, he began to play a familiar love tune.

Feelings flared within her. That was the very song he had played with her then nemesis. She had to admit, however, that it was a very lovely one that showed his voice to advantage. 

With trepidation, she joined.

This experience of this song was markedly different. Mr. Knightley had positioned himself in such a way beside her own instrument that he could watch her and she him. His gaze burned with evident lust as he sang and Emma fully took in the words.

By the time they finished, Emma was feeling both warm and languid and aroused all at the same time. She sighed out a heavy breath at the final notes and darted her eyes back to his beneath her lashes. 

The duet had most definitely lightened Emma’s mood, but had also brought other desires. These had been absent of late. Emma and George had not participated in any sort of physical intimacy since the event which shall remain unnamed. 

Emma was a bit unnerved at the ferocity of her growing arousal. 

She licked her lips and watched as her husband bent over the previously unnoticed case to store his instrument. Warmth gathered in her low belly as he stalked toward her and assumed a seat alongside her on the bench. He was pressed to her, hip to knee, and Emma barely held back a moan as she pressed her legs together and with keen awareness felt every slight motion she made upon her seat.

She almost did not notice when he suggested another duet, this time on the piano, but caught his words just in time and nodded in agreement. They played a light and familiar melody together. His fingers brushed hers; his strong, firm thigh, remained unyielding. 

Goosebumps rose on Emma’s arms and she shifted yet again. 

As this song ended, Emma knew not how, she swallowed. She was sure it was audible. She felt herself to be a quivering bundle of desire. She knew her husband was too much the gentleman to act upon his own feelings while he was still too worried about her. No, she would need to be the one to make the first move, as it were.

Gathering her courage, she placed her hand upon her husband’s thigh. She felt the muscles beneath the material of his trousers bunch at her touch. With lightness, she ran her fingers up, up, up. 

George turned toward her and gathered her in his arms. One hand behind her back, supporting her, one hand cupping her neck, guiding her, he brought his lips to hers. She melted.

However, even as his mouth moved with hers, bringing pleasure, Emma found herself being distracted from it by unwanted thoughts, but she pushed them away, harshly, and devoted herself more fully to the enjoyment of her husband. 

She ran her hands along his chest, then down his thighs. She grabbed his lapels and pulled him closer, biting his lips. She delved her fingers into his hair, pulling, as she thrust her tongue into his mouth.

Suddenly, with a growl, she found herself lifted. She landed upon the piano keys with a clang. Both she and George were breathing heavily. They looked into each other’s eyes with love and passion. 

Meeting her lips in deliberate, unhurried kisses, George touched her. At first, they were light, testing. He traced the edges of her dress. Her nipples stood at attention and she moaned. 

He captured her mouth more fervently and she clung to him. He kissed down her neck, collar bones, chest. With some effort, he tugged down her gown, freeing a breast. He kissed around its peak before taking it into his mouth and sucking deeply. Releasing it, he provided the other with the same treatment. 

In another abrupt motion, he rose and shoved the bench back. He ignored it as it landed in a loud thwack against the floor. He knelt before her.

He tested the hem of her dress. He caressed her ankles. With infinite care, he slowly began to raise her skirts. Eyes watching hers, he left one of her feet on the ground. The other, he lifted and kissed his way up, leaving no inch unattended.

Emma was nervous. Again, flashbacks were surfacing and she felt some shame. They had never discussed in detail what had occurred before he arrived that night. The last time he had seen her bare skin, another man had exposed it to the world.

George hooked her leg over his shoulder. Emma was excited, but she couldn’t shake the ever present worry that he would view her differently. Her mind was repeatedly caught. 

That is, until he began to speak. Directly to the sensitive, secret, exposed center of her. About how beautiful he found her. Her skin so soft, so smooth. Her smell delicious. Her taste divine. The words unchained her heart and released her worries even as each puff of air against that part of her caused her to ache, to long for more contact.

As if sensing her need, his tongue darted out and stroked her. Her mind was consumed by sensation. This man was truly gifted with his mouth, so clever. The only thing distracting her now was that every time he did something truly divine, her fingers clenched and a discordant jumble resonated from the piano below her. A brief worry surfaced of what the servants must think of her playing skills, most probably that she is a horrendous pianist, but his mouth soon wiped even that away.

Every thought, every worry faded as the waves of pleasure approached faster and faster in rhythm with his tongue and lips and fingers. Oh the fingers! He had introduced them first tracing, then pressing inside her and rubbing. 

As she found her pleasure, a sob was ripped from her throat. Still trembling from the release, tears began to course down her cheeks, unbidden. Her body began to slump. She caught her face in her hands.

Then George was there, pulling her down onto the floor, into his lap. He cradled her. He stroked her hair.

She apologized.

He shushed her. “Just tell me what you need. I am here for you.”

“Tell me you love me. Tell me you will always love me. Tell me that no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will be here with me. That you will never look at me differently or let me go. Tell me everything will be alright.”

And he did. And when she had sufficiently calmed, he carried her to their rooms and held her close the remainder of the night. 

The next morning, Emma was feeling much more herself. She rose early in the day and had quite the fine morning, apart from breakfast. There was something or other the matter with the eggs. She must speak with Cook about it. However, as they were soon to be gone, it did not much signify.

Emma wandered aimlessly along the grounds with Gallant at her side. She felt quite proud of how brave she was being, even if she did not veer far from the house. Cold as it had become, she found she was quite enjoying her time out of doors. She even found herself laughing and out of breath, puffs of air clouding before her, as Gallant investigated a bush and was frightened away by a bird.

A carriage pulled into the long drive as she was occupying herself thusly. She recognized it as that of Mrs. Jones. Resigning herself, she called to her pet and walked inside. 

Emma made good time and surprised the footman as he left the drawing room. He jumped and apologized before stammering that he had been just about to come find her. He had deposited her guest in the room behind him.

Thanking him, Emma requested tea be sent in by and by.

Straightening herself best she could without the aid of a looking glass, Emma entered the room. 

Plump, round, gray Mrs. Jones sat beside the fire and smiled warmly as Emma entered. Hardly waiting for polite greetings to be dispensed of, Mrs. Jones launched into conversation, or rather, speech. She could not seem to get her words out fast enough. They nearly tripped on themselves in their rush to exit her mouth. 

But for all her excitement to converse and unleash her torrent of words, she did not have much of substance to say. She remarked on the weather, past, present, and hoped for. She talked of how dull it was now and soon to be even more so with the Knightleys soon to be gone as well. Linens, dresses, décor, and more were all touched on. Emma’s input was only marginally required. 

Tea was brought and Emma had more than enough time to enjoy her own cup.

After many minutes had passed in this manner, Mrs. Jones finally paused to take some refreshment. Emma seized her opportunity.

“Mrs. Jones, I am so glad you dropped by. For you see, there is something I had dearly been hoping to discuss with you.”

Emma drew a breath to steady herself. She knew this conversation must be had, but she was not at all looking forward to it. She set aside her cup and saucer. As she did so, she saw the other woman’s interest and watched as her mouth opened as if to speak. Unwilling to relinquish the conversation and await another gap, Emma drove on.

“As you well know, I have been unwell of late. To tell the truth of it, since the late Mrs. Mortimer’s party. I confess myself to be confused for Miss Contrelle let slip that you had warned her off attending it. It has been bothering me greatly these many days. Why did you not also see fit to caution me thusly?”

Mrs. Jones blinked owlishly, seemingly taken aback. “Why, my dear, dear Mrs. Knightley, you cannot… I did not… It was by no means meant as a slight. I do apologize if I was remiss. I should have thought the reason obvious. You, your station and status, were at no risk by attending such an event. I had not felt the need to issue such a warning. No harm could be done to your reputation or prospects. Indeed. Not to mention that you and your husband appeared more than capable of deciding for yourselves if the event was to your liking and worth your time. Upon my word, I should have thought you would have viewed such an issue as impertinence, a nuisance. I…”

Fidgeting with her skirts, Mrs. Jones trailed off. It was clear that she knew that Emma was upset and was herself very discomposed by such knowledge. With assurances from Emma that all was well and no ill will was harbored, the visit soon ended. 

Emma did not immediately quit the room in search of her husband. Enjoying the crackling of the fire beside her, she thought fondly of her friends at home and how glad she was to be soon rejoining their company. 

Recently, she had received long and lovely letters. Mrs. Weston’s baby was growing quickly and learning to walk. Harriet, who was married before Emma and was now Mrs. Martin had settled well into her home at Abbey Mill Farm. She adored her new sisters and asked Emma if they might not find matches for them as well. She had big news to share, for she was expecting a new addition to the family. 

Emma could not wait to see all of her friends. She felt herself emerging from the gray fog she had been in. Excitement, anticipation wakened within her. She even thought longingly of Mrs. and Miss Bates. They had also written to say that now that the mourning period had passed for his aunt, Mr. Frank Churchill was at last ready to make preparations for his own nuptials with Jane Fairfax. They so hoped that Emma would be home in time to enjoy the festivities. Emma did not feel a single shred of her old jealousy. In fact, she wished them the best. 

Content, Emma went to see to the cook. A farewell dinner had to be arranged and invitations sent out. This, Emma could do.

\--

The night of the dinner went off without a hitch. The Jones’s were in attendance with their nephew and so was Miss Charlotte Contrell with her aunt and father. Everyone was in their best looks and spirits. 

Dinner was had, cards were played, and music enjoyed. Merriment was felt by all and Emma wished that the entirety of her visit could have been this way.

Toward the end of the evening, Charlotte pulled Emma aside. 

“Mrs. Knightley, I do have exciting news to share. Mr. Northman and I, we have come close to some sort of an understanding. He must leave before long to establish his rectory. But he has made plans to return on purpose to meet with me. With me!”

“Yes, child. He will return to meet with you before long. I do expect that he will be returning to do more than just meet with you.” Miss Contrelle had approached and entered the conversation and pompously took over for her niece, who clamped her mouth shut and looked at the ground. “Yes, we fully expect a most advantageous match.”

Emma saw Charlotte’s pained smile as she made polite conversation with her aunt. This was good news, and Emma was very hopeful for her friend. Perhaps out of the shadow of her aunt, the girl could really bloom and come into her own. Some relations, thought Emma, were better loved from a distance. 

In a blink, the evening was ended. Promises were made all around to keep in touch. Fond goodbyes were said, and the doors closed on this particular chapter of the Knightley’s life.

The next day, they began their return journey. Gallant greatly enjoyed riding in the carriage, especially if the windows were opened to allow in the breeze. He stuck his head straight out and lolled his tongue. Emma was fearful that he would leap out and hurt himself, but Mr. Knightley convinced her that this was unlikely. 

Emma watched the house grow smaller and smaller as they rode away and thought on all she and George had shared there. So many firsts. It would always retain a soft space in her heart. Perhaps, thought she, it would not be so very bad to visit sometime in the future. Far in the future, after much rest and relaxation. Emma was resolved not to be entirely set against it. 

This carriage ride was not nearly as pleasant as the one on their journey here. For one, Gallant interrupted and prevented any contact of an intimate nature between her husband and herself. For another, the cold, wet weather seemed to have rutted the road further and made the ride much rougher and unpleasant. Emma was near ill the majority of the journey. She swallowed back bile convulsively and was determined to ride it out. However, when her husband saw she had become too white and clammy he ordered them to stop for a while and take some air. 

Emma was worried that George would be angered that the journey was taking so much longer, but he was not. He was happy to be with her and reminded her that there was no specific time by which they must arrive. He did not mind stopping. In fact, at every one, he insisted they walk together, enjoy the sights, and even take a picnic. They are more days traveling and more at inns than on their arrival journey, but after this understanding was reached, neither was put off. 

Now away from the sea and with space from all that had transpired there, they made love for the first time since their ordeal. It was unrushed and unhurried and handled on both sides with love and care.


End file.
